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Copyright N?. 



COPVRIGHT DEPOSnv 



ECLECTIC ENGLISH CLASSICS 



SHAKESPEARE'S 

AS YOU LIKE IT 



EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY BY 

SAMUEL M. NORTH 

; 
HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH, BALTIMORE 
POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE 



NEW YORK •:• CINCINNATI •:• CHICAGO 

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 






Copyright, 1895 and 1910, by 
American Book Company 



AS YOU LIKE IT 

w. p. I 



©CLA2?59^>5 



INTRODUCTION. 



"As You Like It" was on the stage as early as the year. 
1600, but was not in print till it appeared in the first collection 
of Shakespeare's plays, pubHshed in 1623 and known as the 
" First Folio." 

The comedy is founded on a novel by Thomas Lodge, 
printed in 1590 under the title of " Rosalynde, Euphues' 
Golden Legacie." 

Shakespeare borrows names and incidents from this story, but 
the characterization is his own ; and his creative genius has sur- 
rounded " a rather heavy and commonplace tale with an atmos- 
phere of graceful romance, resulting in a play the charming 
animation and grace of which have made it the deHght of all 
readers, young and old." 

The action. of "As You Like It" is wholly in the open air, 
and the drama is redolent of woods and green fields and all the 
charms of a pastoral and rustic life. After the first act its inci- 
dents are for the most part in the Forest of Arden, where a Duke, 
dispossessed of his title and dukedom by Frederick, a usurping 
younger brother, is hving in banishment in the company of many 
friends and adherents. Here, in genial comradeship, enlivened 

3 



4 INTRODUCTION. 

by the songs of the tuneful Amiens, and entertained with the sen- 
tentious philosophizing of " the melancholy Jaques," — a traveled 
courtier, highly appreciated by the Duke, — they "fleet the time 
carelessly " as in the golden age, and, " exempt from public 
haunt," find 

** Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

The play opens, however, in a garden near the house of 
Oliver, the eldest son of Sir Rowland de Bois, where we learn 
from a conversation between Orlando and Adam — an old ser- 
vant of the family — that Sir Rowland, at his death, bequeathed 
his possessions to his three sons, of whom Orlando is the young- 
est, leaving the management and distribution of the estate to 
Oliver. The latter is also charged with the training of Orlando, 
but entertains a groundless and unnatural hatred for him, treat- 
ing him with the utmost indignity, withholding his inheritance, 
and denying him the education fitting his birth. 

While Orlando and Adam are talking, Oliver enters, and a 
violent quarrel ensues between the brothers. Exasperated by 
the contemptuous taunts of OHver, Orlando seizes him by the 
throat, and they are only separated through the intervention of 
Adam. When he and Orlando go out, Charles, a noted wrestler, 
one of Duke Frederick's retainers, comes in to advise Oliver to 
prevent Orlando's intention to enter the hsts in a contest arranged 
for the following day, as it would go hard with the young man 
should he do so, since he (Charles) contends for his reputation 
at this meeting. But Oliver discloses to Charles the feeling he 
has towards his brother, gives him a bad character, and says he 
would as soon see Orlando's neck broken as his finger. 



INTRODUCTION. 5 

The next scene is a lawn before Duke Frederick's palace, 
where Celia, his daughter, and RosaHnd, daughter of his exiled 
brother, are seated. Le Beau, a courtier, appears, and tells them 
they will see some rare sport if they remain, as it is on this lawn 
that the wrestlers are to meet for the final struggle of the tourna- 
ment. They decide to stay. Charles and Orlando approach. 
The ladies, admiring the youth and comeliness of Orlando, en- 
deavor to dissuade him from an undertaking in which his youth 
and inexperience would be no match for the strength and skill 
of his opponent. But Orlando, though flattered by the interest 
they show for him, will not withdraw his challenge, and to the 
surprise of all overthrows the champion, who is borne senseless 
from the scene. Frederick, being informed that Orlando is a 
son of Sir Rowland de Bois, whom he declares to have ever been 
his enemy, turns coldly from the victor, offering neither praise 
nor reward. Not so Rosalind, who, already favorably impressed 
with the handsome and courageous youth, quite loses her heart 
to the modest athlete when she learns that he is the son of a 
steadfast friend of her father. As for Orlando, he had fallen 
desperately in love with Rosalind at first sight. 

Now Duke Frederick, who, out of regard for the sisterly affec- 
tion and lifelong intimacy existing between Ceha and her cousin, 
had retained Rosalind at his court when he expelled her father, 
suddenly warns her, on the pretense of her being a traitor, to 
leave his palace and dominions within ten days, or forfeit her 
life. Celia, hearing this, assures her cousin that in banishing her 
the Duke has banished his daughter as well, as she will share 
Rosalind's exile and follow her fortunes. 

And the two — Rosahnd masquerading as a young forester, 
and Celia in the costume of a shepherdess — accompanied by 



6 INTRODUCTION. 

Touchstone, a " clownish fool " of the Duke's household, steal 
from the court, and wend their way to the Forest of Arden, 
where Rosalind goes to seek her father. Frederick, alarmed by 
his daughter's absence, and having reason to suspect that Orlando, 
who is also missing, may be with the runaways, sends for Oliver, 
commands him to find his brother, and sequesters his lands and 
goods till he does so. 

In the mean time Orlando, having information from the faith- 
ful Adam that his life is in danger from the increased bitterness 
of Ohver's enmity, has abandoned his brother's house, and, wan- 
dering aimlessly, comes upon the exiled Duke in the woods of 
Arden, and is hospitably welcomed. But adversity has by no 
means abated the ardor of Orlando's love for Rosalind, and to 
relieve his passion he writes verses in her praise, which he fastens 
to the trees of the forest. These Celia and RosaHnd discover, 
and are thus made aware of Orlando's presence in their neigh- 
borhood. They soon meet him. Orlando, of course, does not 
recognize either of the cousins in their disguise ; but finding 
the young forester — as he takes Rosalind to be — a sprightly 
youth of more refined manners than one would look to meet in 
" so removed a dweUing," he becomes confidential, and imparts to 
her something of his history and his love. Rosalind ridicules his 
lovesickness ; tells him "love ismerely a madness, and . . . deserves 
as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do ; " that, profit- 
ing by the experience and instruction of an old religious uncle, she 
professes to cure such madness ; that Orlando does not look like 
a lover — has none of her uncle's marks upon him ; but she says 
" there is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants 
with carving ' Rosalind ' on their barks ; hangs odes upon haw- 
thorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name 



INTRODUCTION. 7 

of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancymonger, I would give 
him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of 
love upon him." Orlando assures her he is the man " that is so 
love-shaked," but does not care to be cured, doubts her ability 
to cure him, and asks if she has ever cured any one. " Yes, one," 
she answers, "and in this manner. He was to imagine me his 
love, his mistress ; and I. set him every day to woo me ; at which 
time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, 
changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, 
inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; . . . would now hke him, 
now loathe him ; . . . now weep for him, then spit at him," till 
at length ** I drave my suitor from his mad humor of love. . . . 
And thus I cur'd him ; and this way ... I would cure you, if 
you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my 
cote and woo me." Orlando insists that he has no desire to 
be cured, but is induced to go with CeHa and Rosalind to their 
cottage to try the efficacy of the remedy. 

One day, while undergoing this treatment, Orlando, quitting 
Rosalind for an hour to keep an appointment with the Duke, 
whom he serves, chances upon a man sleeping under an oak, 
around whose neck a serpent is coiling itself, while near by a 
lioness crouches, awaiting some movement of the sleeper to spring 
upon him. At Orlando's approach the serpent glides away, and 
he discovers the imperiled man to be Oliver, the cruel brother 
from whose malignity he has suffered so much and so unjustly. 
The first impulse is to leave him to his fate ; 

" But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion," 

prevail, and he attacks and kills the lioness, 



8 INTRODUCTION. 

Oliver, awakening, recognizes his brother ; forgiveness and 
reconcihation follow, and he is sent by Orlando to apologize 
to Rosalind for his failure to return as promised, and to exhibit 
a napkin which Orlando had used to stanch a wound received 
in his encounter with the beast. At the sight of blood Rosalind 
swoons, but, reviving, would have Oliver believe the fainting 
counterfeited, that he might report to Orlando how well she had 
feigned. But her agitation increasing, Oliver, at Celia's request, 
assists in leading Rosalind to their cottage, and on the way be- 
comes interested in Ceha, wins her love, and, returning to Orlando, 
says if he will consent to their marriage, he (Oliver) will surrender 
to his brother all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's, and 
live and die a shepherd in the forest. 

There is a lively episode in the play, of Phebe, a beautiful 
shepherdess, and Silvius, her lover, whose earnest pleadings she 
treats with cruel scorn. Rosalind, rambling through the wood, 
happens to meet with them. She rates the girl roundly for her 
proud and disdainful bearing, saying that though she may have 
some beauty she is not for all markets, and that she would do well 
to take her lover's offer, " and thank Heaven, fasting, for a good 
man's love." At the same time she tells Silvius that he is a fool 
for following the shepherdess, for he is ** a thousand times a prop- 
erer man than she a woman ; " whereupon Phebe straightway falls 
in love with Rosahnd (in her male attire), and begs her to " chide 
a year together ; " for she would rather hear her chide than Silvius 
woo. 

Rosalind, having now satisfied herself of the truth and con- 
stancy of Orlando's love for her, informs him that she can do 
strange things, and if he so desires she will produce his real and 
very Rosahnd, whom, with the Duke's permission, he may marry 



INTRODUCTION, 9 

at the wedding of Oliver and Celia, which is to take place at 
the Duke's cave the next day. She also promises Phebe that 
she will then marry her if she (Rosahnd) ever marries woman, 
Phebe readily agreeing to take Silvius for her husband in case 
she rejects Rosalind. Accordingly, when all meet at the Duke's, 
Rosalind, appearing in her own character, gives her hand to 
the astonished and delighted Orlando, Celia weds Oliver, Phebe 
keeps her word and accepts Silvius, and Touchstone, coming in 
v^ith Audrey, an unsophisticated lass of the forest, of whom he 
has become enamored, adds another couple 

" To join in Hymen's bands." 

In the midst of these festivities the second son of Sir Rowland 
de Bois arrives to announce that Frederick, the usurping Duke, 
having set out with an armed force to take his brother and put 
him to the sword, was met on the skirts of the wood by an old 
religious man, and by him converted 

*' Both from his enterprise and from the world ; 
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, 
And all their lands restor'd to them again 
That were with him exil'd." 

And so, amid general rejoicing, the play concludes with a 
merry dance by the characters. 

This, then, is the story of our play; and that we may the 
better understand and enjoy it and the other wonder-children 
of the great writer's imagination, we must glance at the main 
facts, at least, of the author's life; we ought to know something 
of the crude makeshifts of a stage which his genius and the art 
of the Elizabethan actors rendered immortal; and we should 



lo INTRODUCTION. 

try to locate the position of our play, approximately, in the 

sequence of Shakespeare's works. 

Not the least of the many striking things about Shakespeare 
is the meagerness of our knowledge of the man and his life. The 
sum total of the tireless labors of innumerable investigators 
shows only the barest results — such bald facts as might well 
have been brought to light, with an equal expenditure of trained 
scholarship, about the humblest Englishman of EHzabeth's time. 
As for knowing the man, his personality, his temperament, his 
methods of work, we are almost entirely obliged to study him 
through his writings. 

This necessity, however, is not altogether an unfortunate one; 
for among the most stimulating questions a student can set for 
himself about any author he reads is, What manner of man is 
it that takes this view of Hfe? Any student of literature who 
neglects to attempt such a reconstruction of the author's per- 
sonality and outlook upon life has surely missed a great op- 
portunity in practical psychology — and this is especially true 
when that text is one of the Shakespeare plays. 

Of Shakespeare's life we have only the following authentic 
facts. He was born on April 23, 1564, at Stratford-on-Avon. 
His father, who came of a line of farmers, was the proprietor of 
a prosperous general store; his mother, Mary Arden, was also of 
a farming family long settled and favorably known in Warwick- 
shire. For a few years the boy probably attended the Stratford 
grammar school, where he picked up, among other things, what 
Ben Jonson referred to as "small Latin and less Greek." When 
William was about fourteen years old, the family fortunes 
declined; his father met with business reverses, mortgaged his 
property, and was later even arrested for debt. It is probable, 



INTRODUCTION. II 

but not certain, that the son's education in school now came to 
an end. Until his eighteenth year we hear nothing of him; but 
we then (1582) find him married to Anne Hathaway, who was the 
daughter of a well-to-do farmer near Stratford, and seven years 
her husband's senior. In 1583 a child, and in 1585, twins were 
born to the young couple. In 1587 we hear of him in London, 
where he lived until 16 11. Though this quarter century is the 
period of his greatest literary activity, we know scarcely any- 
thing definite of his life except that by playwriting, acting, 
and managing theaters and investing his earnings in them, the 
country-bred boy amassed what was for his time a very respect- 
able fortune and achieved what is universally admitted to be the 
most exalted position in ours or in any other literature. In 1597 
he bought ''New Place," a fine house in Stratford, and later 
purchased a tract of farm land near by. About 161 2, he left 
London and took up his residence at Stratford, where he died 
in 1616. 

Except for the dates of the publication and acting of his plays, 
the foregoing paragraph comprises most of the authentic sig- 
nificant facts of the poet's life. Tradition and conjecture, no 
less than scholarship, have naturally been busy with so illus- 
trious a subject; and the student will miss a rare pleasure if he 
fails to read in connection with his study of Shakespeare's plays, 
some such standard Hfe of the great dramatist as, say, Sidney 
Lee's "A Life of William Shakespeare." 

So greatly did the playhouse of Shakespeare's time differ 
from the theater of ours that our understanding and, to some 
extent, our enjoyment of his dramas depends upon our concep- 
tion of the stage for which he wrote. 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

The buildings were of stone and wood; round, octagonal, or 
square; three or four stories in height, and roofless, except for a 
narrow pentshed extending inward from the top of the walls. 
The stage was unsheltered from the weather, as it projected 
from the wall into the open central space. Around it stood on 
the ground (in the ''pit") the part of the audience (the "ground- 
lings") who paid for "standing room only"; those who could 
afford to pay for seats occupied the balconies which ran around 
the building, one above the other; and the gallants and rufflers 
of the day bought the best seats in the house, viz., those upon 
the outer edge of the stage. To us, however, the most surprising 
feature is the almost entire absence of scenery, a painted board 
usually denoting the location of the action; and the only ap- 
proach to our modern complex of sets, drops, wings, flies, etc., 
was a simple curtain which separated the front part of the stage 
from the rear, and which, being drawn aside, "discovered" 
scenes or characters. The actors were men and boys; no 
women were permitted to appear upon the stage until the 
Restoration. On the other hand, the costuming was as elabo- 
rate and gorgeous as the mechanical apparatus was crude and 
meager. 

This remarkable playhouse tells us very strongly a number of 
things about the Elizabethans; but it says nothing else so 
emphatically as that the plays presented under such severe 
limitations had to please all sorts and conditions of men, and, 
as a corollary, that the actors of those days had to know how 
to act. 

The comparative newness of the EngHsh theater; the conse- 
quent uncertainty of its social position — it was practically 
permitted only in the suburbs; the nature of the audiences — 



INTRODUCTION. 13 

drawn largely from the unlettered on the one hand and the idle 
rich on the other, with women neither as actors nor as patrons; 
the stirring times; and the growing importance of London 
among the world's great seaports — a fact which attracted to 
the city men of every sort — all these combined to make 
Shakespeare's productive years the golden age of the EngHsh 
drama. 

In no other period have playwrights been obliged to study so 
carefully what would please their audiences, or have audiences 
so unmistakably demonstrated their pleasure or disapproval of 
the play before them. If the spectators were displeased with 
the playwright, he bade fair to be whipped or, at least, to be 
tossed in a blanket;- if they considered the acting poor, often 
they simply mobbed the stage and beat the actors. This is 
partly accounted for when we remember that to the typical 
Englishman of that day, attendance upon the theater was more 
than a mere means of amusement; it was his sole means of 
education — his newspaper, his novel, his history; it broadened 
his mind, it fired his imagination, and it fixed his patriotism. 
As has been shown above, the writers and actors of the plays — 
and the writers were almost always actors — were never per- 
mitted to forget that they were writing principally for English- 
men, and for Englishmen living in England's most glorious age, 
who knew what they wanted and would not have what they did 
not want; and what they demanded above all else was a story 
interesting enough to swing them off into the other world of the 
imagination, and well enough acted to tally with their everyday 
experience of men. 

This rigorous discipline, then, and the severe limitations of the 
playhouses themselves, will help us to understand the appear- 



14 INTRODUCTION. 

ance, during the latter part of the i6th century and the early 
part of the 17th, of the most illustrious group of dramatists our 
literature has known. Most of them are worthy of serious study; 
many are still read for their sheer excellence of one kind or 
another; and several, by universal consent, rank with the 
greatest who have written in other countries and other times. 
But it was perhaps the misfortune of his contemporaries to 
have lived and worked when Shakespeare did; for he so far 
surpassed them that whereas, except to the student or the 
scholarly reader, their works are hardly known, his plays are 
universally read, acted, studied, quoted, and — final test of 
human approbation — loved. 

Note. — For a simple, sympathetic, and extremely interesting account 
of the whole Elizabethan period, the student is referred to Chapter IV of 
Halleck's " History of English Literature," or to Chapter IV of C. F. John- 
son's " History of English and American Literature." 

For the position of " As You Like It " among Shakespeare's works, 
see pages 103-104. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 



Duke, living in banishment. \ Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar, 

Frederick, his brother, and usw-per Corin, \ i ^i 

of his dominions. SiLVlUS, ) -^ 

Amiens, > lords attending on the ban- 
Jaques, ) ished Duke. 
Le Beau, a courtier attending upon 

Frederick. 
Charles, wrestler to Frederick. 



Oliver, ) 

Jaques, > 

OrLAxNDO, ) 



sons of Sir Rozvland de 
Bois. 



Adam 
Denn 

Touchstone, a clozun. 



Dennis, \ ^^^"^^^ ^^ Oliver. 



SILVIUS, S —^^'''^'' 

William, a country fellotv, in love 

with Audrey. 
A person representing Hymen. 



Rosalind, daughter to the banished 

Duke. 
Celia, daughter to Frederick. 
Phebe, a shepherdess. 
Audrey, a country wench. 

Lords, pages and attendants, etc. 



Scene : Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the Forest of Ardm, 



ACT I. 



Scene I. Orchard of Oliver's House. 



Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Orla?ido. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion : he 
bequeathed me by will but poor a^ thousand crowns, and, as 
thou say'st, charg'd my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well ; 
and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at 
school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit; 2 for my part, 

1 This transposition of the indefinite article occurs elsewhere in Shake- 
speare. 

2 Proficiency. 

15 



1 6 SHAKESPEARE, [act i. 

he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays 
me here at home unkept ; for call you that keeping for a gentle- 
man of my birth, that differs not from the staUing of an ox ? 
His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with 
their feeding, they are taught their manage, ^ and to that end 
riders dearly hir'd ; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him 
but growth, for the which his animals on his dunghills are as 
much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plenti- 
fully gives me, the something that nature gave me his counte- 
nance 2 seems to take from me : he lets me feed with his hinds,^ 
bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, 
mines ^ my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that 
grieves me ; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within 
me, begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer 
endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. 

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 

Orlando. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will 
shake me up. 

• Enter OLIVER. 

Oliver. Now, sir ! what make you here ? ^ 

Orlando. Nothing ; I am not taught to make anything. 

Oliver. What mar you then, sir ? 

Orlando. Marry, ^ sir, I am helping you to mar that which 

God made — a poor unworthy brother of yours — with idleness. 
Oliver. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.^ 
Orlando. Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them ? 

What prodigal portion ^ have I spent, that I should come to such 

penury ? 

1 The training of a horse. 2 Treatment. ^ Farm laborers. 

4 Undermines. 

5 " What make," etc., i.e., what are you doing here? 

6 A petty oath from the name of the Virgin Mary. 

■^ "Be naught awhile," used as a malediction; as, "Efface yourself!" 
" Plague on you!" or the like. 
8 See Luke xv. 11-32. 



SCENE I.] ^^ you LIKE IT. 17 

Oliver. Know you where you are, sir ? 

Orlando. O sir, very well : here in your orchard. 

Oliver. Know you before whom, sir ? 

Orlando. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I 
know you are my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle condition of 
blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows 
you my better, in that you are the firstborn ; but the same tradi- 
tion takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt 
us. I have as much of my father in me as you ; albeit, I confess, 
your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. 

Oliver. What, boy ! 

Orlando. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. 

Oliver. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ? 

Orlando. I am no villain ; I am the youngest son of Sir Row- 
land de Bois ; he was my father, and he is thrice a villain that 
says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I 
would not take this hand from thy throat till this other had puU'd 
out thy tongue for saying so. Thou hast rail'd on thyself. 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's remem- 
brance, be at accord. 

Oliver. Let me go, I say. 

Orlando. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My 
father charg'd you in his will to give me good education ; you 
have train'd me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all 
gentlemanlike qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong 
in me, and I will no longer endure it ; therefore allow me such 
exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allot- 
tery ^ my father left me by testament ; with that I will go buy 
my fortunes. 

Oliver. And what wilt thou do — beg ? — when that is spent ? 
Well, sir, get you in ; I will not long be troubled with you ; you 
shall have some part of your will. I pray you, leave me. 

Orlando. I will no further offend you than becomes me for 
my good. 

1 Portion. 



1 8 SHAKESPEARE. [act i. 

Oliver. Get you with him, you old dog! 

Ada?n. Is " old dog " my reward ? Most true, I have lost my 
teeth in your service. God be with my old master ! He would 
not have spoke ^ such a w^ord. [Exeu?it Orlando and Ada?n. 

Oliver. Is it even so ? begin you to grow ^ upon me ? I will 
physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. — 
Holla, Dennis ! 

Enter DENNIS. 

Dennis. Calls your worship ? 

Oliver. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak 
with me ? 

De?ifiis. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes 
access to you. 

Oliver. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.] 'Twill be a good way ; 
and to-morrow the wrestling is. 

Enter CHARLES. 

Charles. Good morrow to your worship. 

Oliver. Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the 
new court ? 

Charles. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news : 
that is, the old Duke is banish'd by his younger brother the new 
Duke ; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into 
voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the 
new Duke ; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. 

Oliver. Can you tell if RosaHnd, the Duke's daughter, be ban- 
ish'd with her father ? 

Charles. O no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves 
her — being ever from their cradles bred together — that she 
would have follow' d her exile, or have died to stay behind her. 
She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his 
own daughter ; and never two ladies loved as they do. 

Oliver. Where will the old Duke live ? 

1 Spoken. 2 Encroach. 



SCENE I.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 19 

Charles. They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a 
many merry men with him ; and there they hve Hke the old Robin 
Hood 1 of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to 
him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, ^ as they did in the 
golden world.^ 

Oliver. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke ? 

Charles. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint you with a 
matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger 
brother Orlando hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against 
me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit ; and 
he that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him 
well. Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your 
love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honor, 
if he come in. Therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither 
to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his 
intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in 
that it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my 
will. 

Oliver. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou 
shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my 
brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means labored 
to dissuade him from it ; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles : 
it is the stubbornest young fellow of France ; full of ambition, an 
envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villain- 
ous contriver against me, his natural brother. Therefore use thy 
discretion ; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. 
And thou wert best look to't ; for if thou dost him any slight 

1 Robin Hood, "the English balladsinger's joy," was the ideal yeo- 
man of the people of England, as Arthur was the ideal knight of the upper 
classes. He figures in the ballads as an outlaw, " robbing the rich to en- 
dow the poor ; a great sportsman ; the incomparable archer ; the lover of the 
greenwood and of a free life ; brave, adventurous, jovial, open-handed, and a 
protector of women." 

2 " Fleet the time carelessly," i.e., void of care, cause the time to pass 
swiftly. 

3 " The golden world," i.e., the golden age fabled by the ancient poets. 



20 SHAKESPEARE. [act i. 

disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will 
practice ^ against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous 
device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some in- 
direct means or other; for, I assure thee — and almost with tears 
I speak it — there is not one so young and so villainous this day 
living. I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize - 
him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep,,and thou must look 
pale and wonder. 

Charles. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he 
come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment. If ever he go alone 
again, I'll never wrestle for prize more; and so God keep your 
worship ! 

Oliver. Farewell, good Charles. \Exit Charles. \ Now will 
I stir this gamester.^ I hope I shall see an end of him ; for my 
soul — yet I know not why — hates nothing more than he. Yet 
he's gentle, never school'd and yet learned, full of noble device,* 
of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the 
heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best 
know him, that I am altogether misprized.^ But it shall not be 
so long ; this wrestler shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I 
kindle the boy thither,^ which now I'll go about. \Exit. 



Scene II. Lawn before the Diike^s Palace o 
Enter Celia and RoSALiND. 

Celia. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. 

Rosalmd. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress 
of; and would you yet I were merrier ? Unless you could teach 
me to forget a banished father, you must not learn " me how to 
remember any extraordinary pleasure. 

1 Plot. 2 Expose. 3 Sporting youth. 

4 Aims. 5 Undervalued. 

6 "Kindle," etc., i.e., excite him to take part in this contest. 
' Teach. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT, 2i 

Celia. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight 
that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had ban- 
ished thy uncle, the Duke, my father, so thou hadst been still with 
me I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine. So 
wouldst thou if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously 
temper'd ^ as mine is to thee. 

Rosalind. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to re- 
joice in yours. 

CcUa. You know my father hath no child but I,- nor none is 
like to have ; and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir ; for 
what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render 
thee again in affection ; by mine honor, I will ; and when I break 
that oath, let me turn monster. Therefore, my sweet Rose, my 
dear Rose, be meny. 

Rosal'md. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. 
Let me see : what think you of falling in love ? 

Celia. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal ; but love no 
man in good earnest ; nor no further in sport, neither, than with 
safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honor come off again. 

Rosalind. What shall be our sport then ? 

Celia, Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune^ from 
her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. 

Rosaluid. I would we could do so, for her benefits are mightily 
misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in 
her gifts to women. 

Celia. 'Tis true ; for those that she makes fair she scarce 
makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes very 
ill-favoredly. 

Rosalind. Nay, now thou goest from -Fortune's office to 
Nature's. Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the linea- 
ments of Nature. 

1 Composed. 2 ^e. 

3 The goddess of fortune of classical mythology is represented with a horn 
of plenty at her side. She is blindfolded, and generally holds a wheel, a 
symbol of inconstancy, in her hand. 



22 SHAKESPEARE. [ACT I. 

Enter TOUCHSTONE. 

Celia. No ? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she 
not by Fortune fall into the fire ? Though Nature hath given 
us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to 
cut off the argument ? 

Rosalind. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when 
Fortune makes Nature's natural^ the cutter-off of Nature's wit. 

Celia. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but 
Nature's, who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of 
such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone ; for 
always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. — 
How now, wit ! w^hither wander you ? 

Touchstone. Mistress, you must come away to your father. 

Celia. Were you made the messenger ? 

Touchsto7ie. No, by mine honor, but I was bid to come for 
you. 

Rosalifid. Where learned you that oath, fool ? 

Touchstone. Of a certain knight that swore by his honor they 
were good pancakes, and swore by his honor the mustard was 
naught.2 Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and 
the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. 

Celia. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowl- 
edge ? 

Rosalind. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. 

Touchstone. Stand you both forth now. Stroke your chins, 
and swear by your beards that I am a knave. 

Celia. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 

Touchstone. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were ; but if 
you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn. No more 
was this knight, swearing by his honor, for he never had any ; 
or, if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those 
pancakes or that mustard. 

Celia. Prithee, who is't that thou mean'st ? 

1 Fool. 2 Bad. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 23 

Touchstone, One that old Frederick, your father, loves. 

Celia. My father's love is enough to honor him. Enough ! 
speak no more of him; you'll be whipp'd for taxation 1 one of 
these days. 

Touchstone. The more pity that fools may not speak wisely 
what wise men do foolishly. 

Celia. By my troth, thou sayest true ; for since the little wit 
that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men 
have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. 

Rosalind. With his mouth full of news. 

Celia. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. 

Rosalind. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. 

Celia, All the better ; we shall be the more marketable. — 

Enter Le Beau. 

Bon jour. Monsieur Le Beau ; what's the news ? 

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. 

Celia. Sport ! of what color ? 2 

Le Beau. What color, madam ! how shall I answer you ? 

Rosalind. As wit and fortune will. 

Touchstone. Or as the Destinies decree. 

Celia. Well said. That was laid on with a trowel. 

Touchstone. Nay, if I keep not my rank, — 

Rosalind. Thou losest thy old smell. 

Le Beau, You amaze ^ me, ladies. I would have told you of 
good wresthng, which you have lost the sight of. 

Rosalind. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning ; and, if it please your 
ladyships, you may see the end, for the best is yet to do ; and 
here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. 

Celia. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and buried. 

Le Beau. There comes an old man and his three sons, — 

Celia. I could match this beginning with an old tale. 

1 Slander. 2 Kind. 3 Bewilder. 



24 SHAKESPEARE. [act i. 

Le Beau. Three proper ^ young men, of excellent growth and 
presence. 

Rosalind. With bills on their necks, "Be it known unto all 
men by these presents." 

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the 
Duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him and 
broke three of his ribs, that there is Httle hope of life in him. So 
he serv'd the second, and so the third. Yonder they He ; the poor 
old man, their father, making such pitiful dole ^ over them that 
all the beholders take his part with weeping. 

Rosalijid. Alas ! 

Touchstone. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies 
have lost ? 

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 

Touchstone. Thus men may grow wiser every day ! It is the 
first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for 
ladies. 

Celia. Or I, I promise thee. 

Rosalind. But is there any else longs to see this broken music 
in his sides ? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? — Shall 
we see this wrestling, cousin ? 

Le Beau. You must, if you stay here ; for here is the place 
appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. 

Celia. Yonder, sure, they are coming; let us now stay and 
see it. 



Flourish. Enter DuKE FREDERICK, Lords, Orlando, Charles, and 
Attendants. 

Duke F. Come on ; since the youth will not be entreated, his 
own peril on his forwardness. 
Rosalind. Is yonder the man ? 
Le Beau. Even he, madam. 

1 Fine-looking. 8 Lamentation. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 25 

Celia. Alas, he is too young ! yet he looks successfully. 1 

Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin ! - are you crept 
hither to see the wrestling ? 

Rosalind. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. 

Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you ; 
there is such odds in the men. In pity of the challenger's youth 
I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak 
to him, ladies ; see if you can move him. 

Celia. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. 

Duke F. Do so ; I'll not be by. \Duke goes apart. 

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls for you. 

Orkvido. I attend them with all respect and duty. 

Rosalind. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wres- 
tler ? 

Orla?ido. No, fair princess ; he is the general challenger. I 
come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my 
youth. 

Celia. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your 
years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength. If you 
saw yourself with your eyes or knew yourself with your judg- 
ment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more 
equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace 
your own safety and give over this attempt. 

Rosalind. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall not therefore 
be misprized. We will make it our suit to the Duke that the 
wrestling might not go forward. 

Orlando. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard 
thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair 
and excellent ladies anything. But let your fair eyes and gentle 
wishes go with me to my trial, wherein if I be foil'd, there is but 
one sham'd that was never gracious ; ^ if kill'd, but one dead that 
is willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have 

1 As if he would win. 

? " Cousin," in Shakespeare's time, was used indifferently for all degrees 
of kindred beyond the first. 3 Favored. 



26 SHAKESPEARE. [act i. 

none to lament me ; the world no injury, for in it I have noth- 
ing ; only in the world I fill up a place which may be better sup- 
plied when I have made it empty. 

Rosalmd. The little strength that I have, I would it were 
with you. 

Celia. And mine, to eke out hers. 

Rosalind. Fare you well. Pray Heaven I be deceiv'd in you ! 

Celia. Your heart's desires be with you ! 

Charles. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous 
to lie with his mother earth ? 

Orlando. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest 
working. 

Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 

Charles. No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him 
to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. 

Orlajido. You mean to mock me after ; you should not have 
mock'd me before. But come your ways. 

Rosalind. Now Hercules ^ be thy speed,^ young man ! 
. Ctlia. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by 
the leg. \^They wrestle. 

Rosalind. O excellent young man ! 

Celia. If .1 had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who 
should down. \^Shout. Charles is thrown. 

Duke F. No more, no more. 

Orlando. Yes, I beseech your grace. I am not yet well 
breath'd. 

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord, 

Duke F. Bear him away. — What is thy name, young man ? 

Orlando. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of Sir Row- 
land de Bois. 

Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some man else ! 

The world esteem'd thy father honorable, 

1 A mythological hero of antiquity, celebrated for his feats of strength. 

2 " Be thy speed," i.e., speed you; help you. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 27 

But I did find him still mine enemy. 

Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed 

Hadst thou descended from another house. 

But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth. 

I would thou hadst told me of another father. 

\Exeimt Duke Frederick^ train, and Le Beau, 

Celia. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? 

Orlando. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, — 
His youngest son, — and would not change that calling 
To be adopted heir to Frederick. 

Rosalifid. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul, 
And all the world was of my father's mind. 
Had I before known this young man his son,i 
I should have given him tears unto entreaties, 
Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 

Celia. Gentle cousin, 

Let us go thank him and encourage him. 
My father's rough and envious ^ disposition 
Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well deserved. 
If you do keep your promises in love 
But justly, as you have exceeded promise, 
Your mistress shall be happy. 

Rosalind. Gentleman, 

[ Giving him a chain from her neck. 
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,^ 
That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. — 
Shall we go, coz ? 

Celia. Ay. — Fare you well, fair gentleman. 

Orlando. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better parts 
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up 
Is but a quintain,* a mere lifeless block. 

Rosalind. He calls us back : my pride fell with my fortunes ; 

1 " His son," i.e., to be his son. 2 Malicious. 

3 " Out of suits with fortune," i.e., in misfortune. 

4 A quintain was a post with a crossbeam ■ — afterwards the Image of a 



2 8 SHAKESPEARE. [act i. 

I'll ask him what he would. — Did you call, sir ? 
Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown 
More than your enemies. 

Celia. Will you go, coz ? 

Eosalind. Have with you.^ — Fare you well. 

\Exeunt Rosalind a fid Celia. 

Orlando. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue ? 
I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 
O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown ! 
Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. 

Reenter Le Beau. 

Le Bean. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you 
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd 
High commendation, true applause and love, 
Yet such is now the Duke's condition 2 
That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
The Duke is humorous ;^ what he is, indeed. 
More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. 

Orlajido. I thank you, sir ; and, pray you, tell me this : 
Which of the two was daughter of the Duke 
That here was at the wrestling ? 

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; 
But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter. 
The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke, 
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle. 
To keep his daughter company ; whose loves 
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
But I can tell you that of late this Duke 
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, 

man — set in a pivot, and used as a target in military exercises. If the lance 
of the horseman when tilting was awkwardly aimed, it might cause the figure 
to turn and give the assailant a stroke with its projecting arm, thus dis- 
gracing him. 

1 " Have with you," i.e., I'll be with you. A common idiom. 

2 Disposition. s Capricious. 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 29 

Grounded upon no other argument 1 

But that the people praise her for her virtues, 

And pity, her for her good father's sake ; 

And, on my hfe, his malice 'gainst the lady 

Will suddenly 2 break forth. Sir, fare you well. 

Hereafter, in a better world than this,"^ 

I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 

Orlajido. I rest much bounden to you. Fare you well. 

\Exit Le Beau. 
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother ; ^ 
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother ; — 
But heavenly RosaHnd ! \Exit. 

Scene III. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Celia. Why, cousin ! why, Rosalind ! Cupid have mercy ! 
not a word ? 

Rosalind. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Celia. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon 
curs ; throw some of them at me ; come, lame me with reasons. 

Rosalifid. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one 
should be lam'd with reasons and the other mad without any. 

Celia. But is all this for your father ? 

Rosalind. No, some of it is for my father's child. O, how 
full of briers is this working-day world ! 

Celia. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday 
foolery. If we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats 
will catch them. 

Rosalifid. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs are in 
my heart. 

Celia. Hem ^ them away. 

1 Reason. 2 Speedily; quickly. 

^ Le Beau means to say, " When things are in a better state than now." 

4 " From the smoke," etc., i.e., from bad to worse. ^ Cough. 



so SHAKESPEARE. [act i. 

Rosalind. I would try, if I could cry " hem " and have him. 

Celia. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 

Rosalind. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than my- 
self ! 

Celia. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try in time in spite 
of a fall. But, turning these jests out pf service, let us talk in 
good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall 
into so strong a Hking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son ? 

Rosalifid. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly. 

Celia. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son 
dearly ? By this kind of chase i I should hate him, for my 
father hated his father dearly ; 2 yet I hate not Orlando. 

Rosalind. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Celia. Why should I not ? doth he not deserve well ? 

Rosalind. Let me love him for that, and do you love him be- 
cause I do. Look,, here comes the Duke. 

Celia. With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 

Dnke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, 
And get you from our court. 

Rosalind. Me,^ uncle ? 

Duke F. You, cousin. 

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles, 
Thou diest for it. 

Rosalind. I do beseech your grace, 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. 
If with myself I hold intelHgence, 
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires ; 
If that I do not dream or be not frantic, — 

1 " This kind of chase," i.e., this line of reasoning. 

2 Shakespeare uses " dear " of " whatever touches us nearly, either in love 
or hate, joy or sorrow." 3 i. 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 3 1 

As I do trust I am not, — then, dear uncle, 
Never so much as in a thought unborn 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors ; 

If their purgation ^ did consist in words, 
They are as innocent as grace itself. 
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. 

Rosalind. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor. 
Tell me whereon the likehhood depends. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter — there's enough. 

Rosalifid. So was I when your highness took his dukedom ; 
So was I when your highness banish'd him. 
Treason is not inherited, my lord ; 
Or, if we did derive it from our friends. 
What's that to me ? my father was no traitor. 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much 
To think my poverty is treacherous. 

Celia. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 

Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake, 
Else had she with her father rang'd along. 

Celia. I did not then entreat to have her stay ; 
It was your pleasure and your own remorse. 2 
I was too young that time to value her ; 
But now I know her. If she be a traitor, 
Why, so am I ; we still have slept together. 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together, 
And wheresoe'er we went, hke Juno's swans,^ 
Still we went coupled and inseparable. 

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her smoothness. 
Her very silence, and her patience 
Speak to the people, and they pity her. 

1 Clearance from guilt. 2 Tenderness of heart. 

3 " Juno's swans," i.e., the swans that drew the goddess's chariot. But 
the mythologists tell us the swan was sacred to Venus, and that Juno's car 
was drawn by peacocks. 



32 SHAKESPEARE. [act i. 

Thou art a fool ; she robs thee of thy name, 

And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous 

When she is gone. Then open not thy lips. 

Firm and irrevocable is my doom 

Which I have pass'd upon her : she is banish'd. 

Celia. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my Hege ; 
I cannot live out of her company. 

Duke F. You are a fool! — You, niece, provide yourself. 
If you outstay the time, upon mine honor, 
And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

\^Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords, 

Celia. O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go ? 
Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. 

Rosalind. I have more cause. 

Celia. Thou hast not, cousin ; 

Prithee, be cheerful. Know'st thou not the Duke 
Hath banish'd me, his daughter ? 

Rosalind. That he hath not. 

Celia. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am i one. 
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ?. 
No : let my father seek another heir. 
Therefore devise with me how we may fly, 
Whither to go, and what to bear with us ; 
And do not seek to take the charge upon you, 
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out ; 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. 

Rosalind. Why, whither shall we go ? 

Celia. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden. 

Rosalind. Alas, what danger will it be to us, 
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ! 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 

1 Are. 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 33 

Celia. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
The like do you ; so shall we pass along 
And never stir assailants. 

Rosalind. Were it not better, 

Because that I am more than common tall, 
That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
A gallant curtle ax ^ upon my thigh, 
A boar spear in my hand ; and — in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will — 
We'll have a swashing 2 and a martial outside, 
As many other mannish cowards have 
That do outface it with their semblances, 

Celia. What shall I call thee when thou art a man ? 

Rosalind. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page ; 
And therefore look you call me Ganymede.^ 
But what will you be call'd ? 

Celia. Something that hath a reference to my state : 
No longer Ceha, but Aliena. 

Rosalind. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court ? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 

Celia. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; 
Leave me alone to woo * him. Let's away. 
And get our jewels and our wealth together, 
Devise the fittest time and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight. Now go we in content 
To liberty and not to banishment. \Exeunt. 

1 " Curtle ax," i.e., a short sword. The name is a corruption of " cut- 
lass." 2 Swaggering. 

3 A beautiful youth of Phrygia, son of Tros, who, while feeding his 
father's flocks on Mount Ida, was taken up to Olympus by Jupiter, and be- 
came the cupbearer of the gods. ^ Persuade ; gain over. 



34 SHAKESPEARE. [ACT ii. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. TJie Forest of Arden. 

Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and two or three Lords, like foresters, 

Duke S. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile', 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court ? 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — 
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang 
And churhsh chiding of the winter's wind, 
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body. 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, 
** This is no flattery ; these are counselors 
That feelingly persuade me what I am." 
Sweet are the uses of adversity. 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; ^ 
And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything. 
I would not change it. 

Amiens. Happy is your grace, 

That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
And yet it irks ^ me the poor dappled fools. 
Being native burghers ^ of this desert city, 

1 That the toad was venomous, and that it had a precious jewel in its head, 
were old superstitions in Shakespeare's day. The toadstone was supposed 
to be an antidote for poison. 

2 Distresses. 3 Citizens. 



I 



SCENE I.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 35 

Should in their own confines', with forked heads ^ 
Have their round haunches gor'd. 

First Lord. Indeed, my lord, 

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, 
And, in that kind,^ swears you do more usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself 
Did steal behind him as he lay along 
Under an oak whose an'tique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood. 
To the which place a poor sequester'd^ stag, 
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt. 
Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord, 
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears 
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase ; and thus the hairy fool, 
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook. 
Augmenting it with tears. 

Duke S. But what said Jaques ? 

Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 

First Lord. O yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping into the needless stream : * 
'* Poor deer," quoth he, " thou mak'st a testament 
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
To that which had too much." Then, being there alone, 
Left and abandon'd of his velvet ^ friends, 
" 'Tis right," quoth he ; " thus misery doth part 
The flux^ of company." Anon a careless herd, 

1 Arrowheads. 2 Way. 

3 Separated from the herd. 

* " Needless stream," i.e., a stream that already had water enough. 

5 Sleek ; prosperous. ^ Coming together. 



36 SHAKESPEARE. 

Full of the pasture, jumps along by him 

And never stays to greet him. " Ay," quoth Jaques, 

" Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 

'Tis just the fashion ; wherefore do you look 

Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? " 

Thus most invectively he pierceth through 

The body of the country, city, court, — 

Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we 

Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, 

To fright the animals and to kill them up^ 

In their assign'd and native dwelling place. 

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation ? 

Seco7id Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer. 

Duke S. Show me the place. 

I love to cope ^ him in these sullen fits. 
For then he's full of matter.^ 

First Lord. I'll bring you to him straight.* \Exeunt 

Scene II. A Room ifi the Palace. 

Enter DuKE Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw them ? 
It cannot be ; some villains of my court 
Are of consent and sufferance in this.^ 

First Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, 
Saw her abed, and in the morning early 
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 

Second Lord. My lord, the roynish ^ clown, at whom so oft 
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 

1 " Kill them up ; " we should say now, " kill them off." 

2 Meet with. 3 Sound sense. ^ Immediately. 

5 " Are of consent," etc., i.e., knew of this escape and connived at it. 

6 Rascally. 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 37 

Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, 

Confesses that she secretly o'erheard 

Your daughter and her cousin much commend 

The parts and graces of the wrestler 

That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ; 

And she believes, wherever they are gone, 

That youth is surely in their company. 

Duke F. Send to his brother ; fetch that gallant hither. 
If he be absent, bring his brother to me ; 
I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly, 
And let not search and inquisition quail ^ 
To bring again these foolish runaways. \Exeunt, 

Scene III. Before Oliver's House. 
Enter ORLANDO and Adam, meeting. 

Orlando. Who's there ? 

Adam. What! my young master ? O my gentle master ! 
O my sweet master ! O you memory 
Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
Why are you virtuous ? why do people love you ? 
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? 
Why would you be so fond^ to overcome 
The bony priser^ of the humorous* Duke ? 
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
Their graces serve them but as enemies ? 
No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master, 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 

Orlando. Why, what's the matter? 

Adam. O unhappy youth ! 

1 "Inquisition quail," i. e., inquiry slacken. 2 Foolish. 

3 " Bony priser," i. e., stalwart prize fighter. 4 See Note 3, p. 28. 



3^ SHAKESPEARE. [act ii. 

Come not within these doors ; within this roof 

The enemy of all your graces Hves. 

Your brother — no, no brother, yet the son — 

Yet not the son ; I will not call him son 

Of him I was about to call his father — 

Hath heard your praises, and this night he means 

To burn the lodging where you use to lie,i 

And you within it ; if he fail of that, 

He will have other means to cut you off. 

I overheard him and his practices.^ 

This is no place ; ^ this house is but a butchery.* 

Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it! 

Orlando, Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go ? 

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 

Orlando. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food ? 
Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 
A thievish living on the common road ? 
This I must do, or know not what to do ; 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can. 
I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.^ 

Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, 
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father. 
Which I did store to be my foster nurse 
When service should in my old hmbs lie lame. 
And unregarded age in corners thrown. 
Take that ; and He that doth the ravens feed. 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,^ 
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold •; 

1 " Use to lie," i.e., it is your custom to sleep. 

2 Evil designs. '^ Fit dwelling. 

4 Here used in the sense of " slaughterhouse." 

5 " Malice of," etc., i.e., the alienated natural affection of a murderous 
brother. 

6 See Ps. cxlvii. 9, and Luke xii. 6. 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 39 

All this I give you. Let me be your servant. 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
The means of weakness and debility ; 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
Frosty, but kindly. ^ Let me go with you ; 
I'll do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

Orlando. O good old man, how well in thee appears 
The constant ^ service of the an'tique world. 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! ^ 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times. 
Where none will sweat but for promotion, 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having;"* it is not so with thee. 
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree. 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield 
In lieu ^ of all thy pains and husbandry. 
But come thy ways ; we'll go along together, 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent. 
We'll light upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee, 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — 
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
But at fourscore it is too late a week.^ 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better 
Than to die well and not my master's debtor. [Exeunt. 

1 Natural; hence, healthy. 2 Faithful. 3 Reward. 

4 Because of their promotion they become too proud to serve. 

5 " In lieu," i.e., in return for. 

6 " Too late a week," i.e., too late in the week; much too late. 



40 SHAKESPEARE. 

Scene IV. The Forest of Arden. 

Enter Rosalind /^r Ganymede, CELiA_/^r Aliena, and Touchstone. 

Rosalind, O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits ! 

Touchstone. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not 
weary. 

Rosalind. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's ap- 
parel and to cry like a woman ; but I must comfort the weaker 
vessel, as doublet and hose ^ ought to show itself courageous to 
petticoat ; therefore courage, good Aliena ! 

Celia. I pray you, bear with me ; I cannot go no 2 further. 

Touchsto?ie. For my part, I had rather bear with you than 
bear you; yet I should bear no cross ^ if I did bear you, for I 
think you have no money in your purse. 

Rosalind. Well, this is the Forest of Arden. 

Toiichsto7ie. Ay, now am I in Arden — the more fool I ! When 
I was at home I was in a better place; but travelers must be 
content. 

Rosalind. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. 

Enter Corin and SiLVius. 

Look you, who comes here? a young man and an old in solemn * 
talk. 

Corin. That is the way to make her scorn you still. 

Silvius. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her ! 

1 " Doublet and hose," i.e., coat and breeches. " The doublet was close 
and fitted tightly to the body, the skirts reaching a little below the girdle. 
The word 'hose,' now applied solely to the stocking, was used originally 
to imply the breeches " or tight trousers. 

2 Double negatives are frequent in Shakespeare. 

3 A cross is a heavy burden, figuratively. The penny of Queen Elizabeth 
was stamped with a cross, and was familiarly so called. Touchstone puns 
on the two meanings. 

4 Serious ; earnest. 



SCENE IV.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 41 

Corin. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. 

Silvms. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, 
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow. 
But if thy love were ever like to mine, — 
As sure I think did never man love so, — 
How many actions most ridiculous 
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? ^ 

Corm. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 

Silviiis. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily ! 
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, 
Thou hast not lov'd ; 
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
Thou hast not lov'd ; 
Or if thou hast not broke from company 
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me. 
Thou hast not lov'd. 

Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! {Exit. 
Rosalind. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, 

1 have by hard adventure found mine own. 

Touchstone. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I 
broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming 
a-night to Jane Smile ; and I remember the kissing of her batlet 2 
and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd ; and 
I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom 
I took two cods and, giving her them again, said with weeping 
tears, " Wear these for my sake." ^ We that are true lovers run 

1 Fancy; i.e., love. 2 a little bat used by laundresses. 

3 *' Our [English] ancestors were frequently accustomed in their love 
affairs to employ the divination of a peascod [pea pod], by selecting one 
growing on the stem, snatching it away quickly, and if the omen of the peas 
remaining in the pod were preserved, then presenting it to the lady of their 
choice." (Brand's Popular Antiquities, quoted b^ \V. Aldis Wright.) 



42 SHAKESPEARE, [act ii. 

into strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature 
in love mortal in folly. ^ 

Rosalifid. Thou speakest wiser than thou art 'ware of. 

Touchstone. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit till I 
break my shins against it. 

Rosalind, Jove, Jove ! this shepherd's passion 

Is much upon my fashion. 

Touchstone. And mine ; but it grows something stale with me. 

Celia. I pray you, one of you question yond man 
If he for gold will give us any food. 
I faint almost to death. 

Touchstofie. Holla, you clown ! 

Rosalmd. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman. 

Corin. Who calls ? 

Touchstone. Your betters, sir. 

Corin. Else are they very wretched. 

Rosalind. Peace, I say. — Good even to you, friend. 

Corin. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 

Rosalind. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment. 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed. 
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, 
And faints for succor. 

Corin. Fair sir, I pity her, 

And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, 
My fortunes were more able to reheve her; 
But I am shepherd to another man, 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze. 
My master is of churlish disposition. 
And little recks 2 to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality. 
Besides, his cote,^ his flocks, and bounds of feed 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, 

1 " Mortal in folly," i.e., extremely foolish. 

2 Cares. 3 Hut. 



SCENE v.] AS VOC/ LIKE IT. 43 

By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
That you will feed on ; but what is, come see, 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 

Rosalind. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture ? 

Corin. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,^ 
That little cares for buying anything. 

Rosalind. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 

Celia. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, 
And wiUingly could waste ^ my time in it. 

Corin. Assuredly the thing is to be sold. 
Go with me ; if you like upon report 
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder ^ be. 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. \Exeunt. 

Scene V. The Forest. 

Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. 

Song. 

Amiens. Under the greenwood tree 

Who loves to lie with ;;?^, 

And turn his jnerry note 

Unto the sweet bird^s throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither j 

Here shall he see 

No ene77iy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaques. More, more, I prithee, more! 

Amiens. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. 

Jaques. I thank it. More, I prithee, more ! I can suck mel- 
ancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, 
more! 

1 Just now. 2 Spend. 3 Servant. 



44 SHAKESPEARE. [act II. 

Amiens. My voice is ragged ; I know I cannot please you. 

Jaques. I do not desire you to please me ; I do desire you to 
sing. Come, more ; another stanzo ; call you 'em stanzos ? 

Amiens. What you will, Monsieur Jaques. 

Jaques. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe me noth- 
ing. Will you sing ? 

Amiens. More at your request than to please myself. 

Jaques. Well, then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; 
but that they call compHment is like the encounter of two dog 
apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given 
him a penny and he renders me the beggarly tha,nks. Come, 
sing; — and you that will not, hold your tongues, 

Amiens. Well, I'll end the song. — Sirs, cover ^ the while; the 
Duke will drink under this tree. — He hath been all this day to 
look 2 you. 

Jaques. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is 
too disputable ^ for my company. I think of as many matters as 
he, but I give Heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, 
warble, come ! 

Song. 

Who doth ambition shun, [A// together here. 

And loves to live V th^ sun, 

Seeking thejood he eats 

And pleas' d with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither; 

Here shall he see 

No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaques. I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yester- 
day in despite of my invention."^ 

1 Prepare the table for the banquet. 2 Look for. 

3 Fond of argument. 

4 " In despite of my invention," i.e., though my imagination gave its 
help unwillingly. 



SCENE VI.] AS YOU LIKE IT, 45 

Amiens. And I'll sing it. 
Jaqiies. Thus it goes : 

If it do come to pass 

That any man turn ass. 

Leaving his wealth and ease, 

A stubborn will to please, 
Due da me, due dame, due dame ; 

Here shall he see 

Gross fools as he, 
An if he will come to me, 

Amiens. What's that *' ducdame ? " 

Jaques. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. 
I'll go sleep, if I can ; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first- 
born of Egypt.^ 

Amiens. And I'll go seek the Duke ; his banquet is prepared. 

\^Exeimt severally. 

Scene VI. The Forest. 

Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food ! 
Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind 
master, 

Orlando. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in thee ? 
Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself a little. If this un- 
couth forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for it or 
bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit ^ is nearer death than thy 
powers. For my sake be comfortable ; hold death awhile at the 
arm's end. I will here be with thee presently ; and if I bring thee 
not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die ; but if thou 
diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labor. Well said ! 
thou look'st cheerly,^ and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest 

1 Dr. Johnson notes that the expression "firstborn of Egypt" was a 
proverbial one for highborn persons. 

2 Imagination. 8 Cheerfully, 



46 SHAKESPEARE. [act ii. 

in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter ; and thou 
shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live anything in this 
desert. Cheerly, good Adam ! [Exeunt. 



Scene VII. The Forest 

A table set out. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and Lords like outlaws. 

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; 
For I can nowhere find him like a man. 

First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence ; 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 

Duke S. If he, compact of jars,i grow musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.^ 
Go, seek him ; tell him I would speak with him. 

Enter Jaques. 

First Lord. He saves my labor by his own approach. 

Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is this, 
That your poor friends must woo your company ? 
What, you look merrily ! 

Jaques. A fool, a fool ! I met a fool i' the forest, 
A motley ^ fool ! — A miserable world ! — 
As I do hve by food, I met a fool. 
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, 
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. 
" Good morrow, fool," quoth I. " No, sir," quoth he, 
" Call me not fool till Heaven hath sent me fortune." 
And then he drew a dial from his poke,* 

1 "Compact of jars," i.e., made up of discords. 

2 The doctrine of Pythagoras that the heavenly bodies in their motion 
produce harmonious sounds, is frequently referred to by Shakespeare. 

3 Party-colored. The dress of the professional fool, who had a place in 
every large household, was patched with various colors. 

4 Pocket. 



SCENE VII.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 4^ 

And, looking on it with lackluster eye, 

Says very wisely, " It is ten o'clock. 

Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags; 

'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, 

And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; 

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; 

And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear 

The motley fool thus moral ^ on the time, 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 

That fools should be so deep-contemplative, 

And I did laugh sans ^ intermission 

An hour by his dial. O noble fool ! 

worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear.^ 
Zfu^e S. What fool is this ? 

Jaques. A worthy fool ! One that hath been a courtier, 
And says, if ladies be but young and fair. 
They have the gift to know it ; and in his brain, 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd 
With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool ! 

1 am ambitious for a motley coat. 
Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 

Jaques. It is my only suit,^ 

Provided that you weed your better judgments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have ; 
And they that are most galled with my folly. 
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so ? 

1 Moralize. 2 A French word meaning " without." 

3 " Motley's the only wear," i.e., there is no dress like the fool's. 

* A play upon the word is doubtless intended. 



48 SHAKESPEARE. [act ii. 

The " why " is plain as way to parish church : 

He that a fool doth very wisely hit, 

Doth very fooHshly, although he smart, 

But to seem senseless of the bob ; ^ if not, 

The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 

Even by the squandering glances 2 of the fool. 

Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 

To speak my mind, and I will through and through 

Cleanse the foul body of the infected world. 

If they will patiently receive my medicine. 

Duke S. Fie on thee ! I can tell what thou wouldst do. 

Jaques, What, for a counter,^ would I do but good ? 

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin ; 
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 
As sensual as the brutish sting itself ; 
And all the embossed sores and headed evils. 
That thou with license of free foot hast caught, 
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

Jaques. Why, who cries out on pride. 
That can therein tax * any private party ? 
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea. 
Till that the wearer's very means do ebb ? 
AVhat woman in the city do I name, 
When that I say the city woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
Who can come in and say that I mean her, 
When such a one as she, such is her neighbor ? 
Or what is he of basest function,^ 
That says his bravery is not on my cost,^ 
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits 

1 Blow. 

2 " Squandering glances," i.e., gibes scattered without special aim. 

3 " For a counter," i.e., on the wager of a counter. The counter was a 
worthless coin, used only for calculations. 

4 Censure. 5 Occupation. 

6 " His bravery," etc., i.e., his fine clothes are not at my expense. 



SCENE VII.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 49 

His folly to the mettle of my speech ? 

There then ; how then ? what then ? Let me see wherein 

My tongue hath wrong'd him. If it do him right, 

Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free, 

Why then my taxing like a wild goose flies, 

Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ? 

Enter Orlando, with his sword draivn. 

Orlando. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaques. Why, I have eat none yet. 

Orla?ido. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 

Jaques. Of what kind should this cock come of ? 1 

Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress, 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? 

Orlando. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny point 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility ; yet am I inland bred,^ 
And know some nurture.^ But forbear, I say! 
He dies that touches any of this fruit 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Jaques. An you will not be answered with reason, I must 
die. 

Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentleness shall 
force 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orlando. I almost die for food ; and let me have it. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. 

Orlando. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you ; 
I thought that all things had been savage here 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are 

* This repeating of the preposition is often met with in Shakespeare. 

2 " Inland bred," i.e., not a rustic brought up on the frontier. 

3 Good breeding. 



50 SHAKESPEARE. [act ii. 

That in this desert inaccessible, 

Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 

If ever you have look'd on better days, 

If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, 

If ever sat at any good man's feast, 

If ever from your eyehds wip'd a tear. 

And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, — 

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be ; 

In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. 

Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days, 
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church. 
And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd ; 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness. 
And take upon command what help we have 
That to your wanting may be minister'd. 

Orlando. Then but forbear your food a little while, 
Whiles like a doe I go to find my fawn 
And give it food. There is an old poor man. 
Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limp'd in pure love ; till he be first suffic'd, — 
Oppress' d with two weak evils,^ age and hunger, — 
I will not touch a bit. 

Duke S. Go find him out. 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 

Orlando. I thank ye ; and be blest for your good comfort ! 

[Exit 

Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy. 
This wide and universal theater 
Presents more woful pageants than the scene 
Wherein we play in. 

Jaques. All the world's a stage. 

And all the men and women merely players. 

1 " Weak evils," i.e., evils causing weakness. 



SCENE VII.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 51 

They have their exits and their entrances ; 

And one man in his time plays many parts, 

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, 

Mewhng and puking in the nurse's arms. 

And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel 

And shining morning face, creeping like snail 

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover. 

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, 

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard;i 

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. 

Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice. 

In fair round belly with good capon lin'd. 

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut. 

Full of wise saws and modern instances i^ 

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,*^ 

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side. 

His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide 

For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 

And whistles in his * sound. Last scene of all. 

That ends this strange, eventful history, 

Is second childishness and mere obhvion, 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 

Reenter Orlando with Adam. 

Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden. 
And let him feed. 

1 " Bearded like the pard," i.e., with long, pointed mustaches like the 
leopard's feelers. 

2 " Full of wise saws," etc., i.e., crammed with wise sayings and com- 
monplace illustrations. 

3 The name of a comic character in Italian plays. 

4 The pronoun " its " was rarely used in Shakespeare's day. 



52 SHAKESPEARE. [act ii. 

Orlando. I thank you most for him. 

Adam. So had you need ; — 

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

Duke S. Welcome ; fall to. I will not trouble you, 
As yet, to question you about your fortunes. — 
Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 

Song. 

Amiens. Blow, blow, tkoii winter wind, 

Thou art not so unkind 
As fnan^s ingratitude , 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art 7iot seen. 
Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh-ho / sing, heigh-ho / unto the green holly I 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly ; 
Theti, heigh-ho, the holly / 
This life is most Jolly, 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. 
That dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 

As friend remember* d not.^ 
Heigh-ho / sing, etc. 

Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, 
As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd and living in your face, 
Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke 
That lov'd your father ; the residue of your fortune, 
Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man, 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is. — 
Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand, 
And let me all your fortunes understand. \Exeunt, 

1 "As friend," etc., i.e., as what an unremembered friend feels. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 53 

ACT III. 
Scene I. A Room in the Palace, 

EnUr DuKK Frederick, Lords, and Oliver. 

Duke F. Not see him since ? Sir, sir, that cannot be ; 
But were I not the better part made mercy, 
I should not seek an absent argument ^ 
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it : 
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is ; 
Seek him with candle ;2 bring him dead or living 
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more 
To seek a living in our territory. 
Thy lands and all things which thou dost call thine. 
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands, 
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth 
Of what we think against thee. 

Oliver. O that your highness knew my heart in this ! 
I never lov'd my brother in my life. 

Duke F. More villain thou. — Well, push him out of doors; 
And let my officers of such a nature 
Make an extent ^ upon his house and lands. 
Do this expediently,* and turn him going. [Exeunt, 

Scene II. The Forest. 

Enter Orlando, with a paper. 

Orlando. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love. — 
And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night,^ survey 

1 Object. 2 See Luke xv. 8. 

3 " Make an extent," i.e., seize by writ of attachment. 

4 Expeditiously. 

5 " Thrice-crowned Queen of Night," i.e., the moon; known as Luna or 
Cynthia in heaven, Hecate or Proserpina in the lower regions, and on earth 
as Diana, who was also goddess of the chase and of chastity. 



54 SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, 
Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. — 

O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books. 
And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;^ 

That every eye which in this forest looks, 
Shall see thy virtue witness'd everywhere. — 

Run, run, Orlando ; carve on every tree 

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive ^ she. \Exit. 



Enter CoRiN and Touchstone. 

Corin. And how hke you this shepherd's Hfe, Master Touch- 
stone ? 

Touchstone. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good 
life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught.^ In 
respect that it is solitary, I like it very well ; but in respect that 
it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it is in the 
fields, it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is not in the court, 
it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humor 
well ; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much again.^ 
my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? 

Corin. No more but that I know the more one sickens the 
worse at ease he is, and that he that wants money, means, and 
content is without three good friends ; that the property of rain 
is to wet, and fire to burn ; that good pasture makes fat sheep, 
and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he 
that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good 
breeding ^ or comes of a very dull kindred. 

Touchstone. Such a one is a natural philosopher. — Wast ever 
in court, shepherd ? 

Corin. No, truly. 

Touchstone. Then thou art damn'd. 

Corin. Nay, I hope. 

1 Carve. 2 Inexpressible. 3 gee Note 2, p. 22. 

4 " Complain," etc., i.e., complain of not having been well brought up. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 55 

Touchstone. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg all 
on one side. 

Corin. For not being at court ? Your reason. 

Touchsto7ie. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never 
saw'st good manners ; if thou never saw'st good manners, then 
thy manners must be wicked ; and wickedness is sin, and sin is 
damnation. Thou art in a parlous ^ state, shepherd. 

Corifi. Not a whit. Touchstone ; those that are good manners 
at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behavior of 
the country is most mockable at the court. You told me you 
salute not at the court but you kiss ^ your hands ; that courtesy 
would be uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds. 

Touchstone. Instance,^ briefly ; come, instance. 

Coriji. Why, we are still ^ handling our ewes, and their fells,-^ 
you know, are greasy. 

Touchstone. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat ? and is 
not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man ? 
Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say ; come. 

Corin. Besides, our hands are hard. 

Touchsto7ie. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow 
again. A more sounder ^ instance, come. 

Corin. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our 
sheep ; and would you have us kiss tar ? The courtier's hands 
are perfum'd with civet.'^ 

Touchstone. Most shallow man ! thou worms'-meat, in respect of 
a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend i^ 
civet is of a baser birth than tar. Mend the instance, shepherd. 

Corin. You have too courtly a wit for me ; I'll rest. 

Touchstone. Wilt thou rest damn'd ? God help thee, shallow 
man ! God make incision in thee ! ^ thou art raw. 

Corin. Sir, I am a true laborer. I earn that I eat, get that I 

1 Perilous. 2 " But you kiss," i.e., without kissing. 

3 Give an example ; prove it. ^ Continually. ^ Skins. 

6 Double comparatives are used by all Elizabethan writers. 

7 A perfume derived from the civet cat. ^ Consider. 

9 Alluding to the old practice of bloodletting as a cure for most diseases. 



56 SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

wear ; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness ; glad of other 
men's good, content with my harm;^ and the greatest of my 
pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. Here comes 
young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. 

Enter Rosalind, ivith a paper, reading. 

Rosalind. From the east to western Ind, 

No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures fairest lin'd 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no face be kept in mind 
But the fair of Rosalifid. 

Touchsto7ie. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners 
and suppers and sleeping hours excepted ; it is the right butter- 
women's rank ^ to market. 

Rosalind. Out, fool ! 

Touchstone. For a taste : 

If a hart do lack a hind, 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If the cat will after kind, 

So be sure will Rosalind. 

Wiiiter gari7ie7its 7nust be li7i'd, 

So 77iust slender Rosali7id. 

They that reap 77iust sheaf and bi7id; 

The7i to cart with Rosali7id. 

Sweetest 7iut hath so2irest rind. 

Such a nut is Rosali7id. 

He that sweetest rose will find 

Must find love's prick and Rosalind. 

This is the very false gallop of verses ; why do you infect your- 
self with them ? 

1 "Content with my harm," i.e., bear my misfortunes patiently, 
3 "Going one after another at a jog trot." 



SCENE 11.] AS voir LIKE IT. 57 

Rosalind. Peace, you dull fool ! I found them on a tree. 

Touchsto7ie. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 

Rosalind. I'll graff ^ it with you, and then I shall graff it with 
a medlar; 2 then it will be the earliest fruit i' the country; for 
you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue 
of the medlar. 

Toiichsto7ie. You have said ; but whether wisely or no, let the 
forest judge. 

Enter Celia, with a writing. 

Rosalind. Peace ! 
Here comes my sister, reading. Stand aside. 
Celia. [Reads] 

Why should this a desert be ? 

For 3 it is unpeopled f No j 
Tottgues ril hang on every tree, 

That shall civil sayings ^ show. 
Some, how brief the life of 7nan 

Runs his erring^ pilgrimage y 
That^ the stretching of a span 

Buckles in his sufn of age; 
Some, of violated vows 

' Twixt the soids of friend and friend. 
But upon the fairest boughs, 

Or at every sentence end. 
Will I Rosalinda write, 

Teachijtg all that read to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 

Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore Heaven Nature charged 

That one body should be fir d 
With all graces wide-enlarg'd. 

Nature presently distilVd 

1 Graft. 

2 A small European tree, the fruit of which, like that of the American 
persimmon, is not fit to be eaten till it is overripe. 

3 Because. 4 " Civil sayings," i.e., sayings of civilized society. 
5 Errant ; wandering. 6 So that. 



SS SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

Helen's ^ cheek, but not her hearts 

Cleopatra's 2 majesty ; 
Atalanta's better part j^ 

Sad Lucretia's ^ modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of maiiy parts 

By heavenly sytiod was devised, 
0/ many faces y eyes, and hearts, 

To have the touches ^ dearest prized. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should have, 
A?id I to live and die her slave. 

Rosalind. O most gentle pulpiter ! what tedious homily of 
love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried, 
" Have patience, good people "! 

Celia. How now ! Back, friends ! — Shepherd, go off a httle. 
— Go with him, sirrah. 

Touchstone. Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable re- 
treat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and 
scrippage. \Exeiint Corin and Touchstone. 

Celia. Didst thou hear these verses ? 

1 Helen, according to classic mythology, was the daughter of Jupiter, 
and the most beautiful woman of her time. Her treacherous desertion of 
her husband, King Menelaus of Sparta, and her elopement with Paris, a 
prince of Troy, occasioned the Trojan War, the theme of Homer's Iliad. 

2 Cleopatra, the celebrated Egyptian queen, famed in history and fiction 
for her beauty and mental perfections, and for the wonderful fascination of her 
coquetry, died in 30 B.C., after a reign of twenty-four years. 

3 "Atalanta's better part" was, probably, her graceful, well-proportioned 
form. She was the daughter of a king of Scyros ; a great huntress, and very 
swift-footed. She did not wish to marry, and, to free herself from the 
importunities of her many admirers, proposed to run a race with them, the 
winner to be her husband; but if she reached the goal first her competitors 
were to be put to death. She would easily have distanced them all but for a 
stratagem devised, we are told, by Venus, goddess of beauty. 

* Lucretia, a Roman lady, wife of Tarquinius Collatinus, having been 
dishonored by Sextus Tarquinius, revealed to her husband and father the 
indignities she had suffered, entreated them to avenge her wrongs, and then 
stabbed herself with a dagger she had concealed on her person. 

5 Features and traits of character. 



SCENE II.] AS V0[/ LIKE IT. 59 

Rosalind. O yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for some 
of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. 

Cclia. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the verses. 

Rosalind. Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear 
themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the 
verse. 

Celia. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name 
should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees ? 

Rosalind. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder be- 
fore you came ; for look here what I found on a palm tree. I 
was never so berhym'd since Pythagoras' ^ time, that I was an 
Irish rat,2 which I can hardly remember. 

Celia. Trow you who hath done this ? 

Rosalind. Is it a man ? 

Celia. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. 
Change you color ? 

Rosalind. I prithee, who ? 

Celia. O Lord, Lord ! it is a hard matter for friends to 
meet ; but mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and so 
encounter. 

Rosalind. Nay, but who is it ? 

Celia. Is it possible ? 

Rosalind. Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, 
tell me who it is. 

Celia. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful ! 
and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping \^ 

Rosalind. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, though I 
am caparison'd hke a man, I have a doublet and hose in my dis- 
position ? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery ; 
I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would 

1 A Greek philosopher, one of whose doctrines was the transmigration of 
the soul into successive bodies, either human or animal. 

2 " The belj-^f that rats were rhymed to death in Ireland is frequently 
alluded to by the old dramatists." 

3 " Out of all whooping," i.e., past all exclamation. 



6o SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal' d man 
out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bot- 
tle, — either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the 
cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Is he of 
God's making ? What manner of man ? Is his head worth a 
hat, or his chin worth a beard ? 

Celia. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 

Rosalind. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thank- 
ful. Let me stay ^ the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not 
the knowledge of his chin. 

Celia. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels 
and your heart both in an instant. 

Rosalind. Nay, but the devil take mocking ; speak, sad brow 
and true maid.^ 

Celia. V faith, coz, 'tis he. 

Rosali?id. Orlando ? 

Celia. Orlando. 

Rosalind. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet and 
hose ? — What did he when thou saw'st him ? What said he? 
How look'd he ? Wherein went he ? ^ What makes he here ? 
Did he ask for me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with 
thee ? and when shalt thou see him again ? Answer me in one 
word. 

Celia. You must borrow me Gargantua's* mouth first; 'tis a 
word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say "ay" and 
"no" to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. 

Rosalind. But doth he know that I am in this forest and in 
man's apparel ? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he 
wrestled ? 

Celia. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the proposi- 
tions of a lover ; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it 

1 " Let me stay," i.e., I am willing to wait. 

2 " Sad brow," etc., i.e., without joking; in honest earnest. 

3 " Wherein went he? " i.e., how was he dressed ? 

4 A giant in one of Rabelais' satires, who swallows five pilgrims in a salad. 



SCENE II.] AS V0[/ LIKE IT. 6 1 

with good observance. I found him under a tree, Hke a dropp'd 
acorn. 

Rosalind. It may well be called Jove's tree,i when it drops 
forth such fruit. 

Celia. Give me audience, good madam. 

Rosali?id. Proceed, 

Celia. There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. 

Rosalind. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well be- 
comes the ground. 

Celia. Cry " holla " ^ to thy tongue, I prithee ; it curvets unsea- 
sonably. He was furnish'd Hke a hunter. 

Rosalind. O, ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 

Celia. I would sing my song without a burden ; thou bring'st 
me out of tune. 

Rosalind. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think, I 
must speak. Sweet, say on. 

Celia. You bring ^ me out. — Soft ! comes he not here ? 

Enter Orlando and Jaques. 

Rosalind. 'Tis he ! Slink by, and note him. 

Jaques. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I 
had as lief have been myself alone. 

Orlafido. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion's sake, I thank 
you too for your society. 

Jaques. God be wi' you ; let's meet as little as we can. 

Orlando. I do desire we may be better strangers. 

Jaques. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love songs 
in their barks. 

Orlando. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading 
them ill-favoredly. 

Jaques. Rosalind is your love's name ? 

Orlando. Yes, just. 

Jaques. I do not like her name. 

1 The oak was sacred to Jove, or Jupiter. 

2 An expression used in checking a horse. 3 ^xxt. 



62 SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

Orlando. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was 
christen'd. 

Jaques. What stature is she of ? 

Orlando. Just as high as my heart. 

Jaques. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been 
acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of 
rings ? 1 

Orlando. Not so ; but I answer you right painted cloth,^ from 
whence you have studied your questions. 

Jaques. You have a nimble wit ; I think 'twas made of Ata- 
lanta's heels. Will you sit down with me ? and we two will rail 
against our mistress the world and all our misery. 

Orlafido. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, 
against whom I know most faults. 

Jaques. The worst fault you have is to be in love, 

Orla7ido. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. 
I am weary of you. 

Jaques. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found 
you. 

Orlando. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, and you 
shall see him. 

Jaques. There I shall see mine own figure. 

Orlando. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. 

Jaques. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior 
Love. 

Orlajido. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good Monsieur 
Melancholy. [Exit Jaques. 

Celia and Rosalind come fot-ward. 

Rosaliiid. [Aside to Celia] I will speak to him like a saucy 
lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him. — Do you 
hear, forester ? 

1 The meaning is, " Have you not had access to goldsmiths' shops through 
the favor of their wives, and studied the mottoes in rings ? " 

2 " Right painted cloth," i.e., sententiously. The painted cloths often men- 
tioned by Shakespeare were hangings of tapestry with which rooms were dec- 
orated, and on which various mottoes were wrought. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT, 63 

Orlando. Very well ; what would you ? 

Rosalind. I pray you, what is't o'clock ? 

Orlando. You should ask me what time o' day; there's no 
clock in the forest. 

Rosalind. Then there is no true lover in the forest ; else sigh- 
ing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy 
foot of Time as well as a clock. 

Orlando. And why not the swift foot of Time ? Had not that 
been as proper ? 

Rosalind. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with 
divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time 
trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still 
withal. 

Orlando. I prithee, who doth he trot withal ? 

Rosalind. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between 
the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz'd. If the 
interim be but a se'nnight,i Time's pace is so hard that it seems 
the length of seven year. 

Orlando. Who ambles Time withal ? 

Rosalind. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that 
hath not the gout ; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot 
study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain, — the 
one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other 
knowing no burden of heavy, tedious penury. These Time ambles 
withal. 

Orlando. Who doth he gallop withal ? 

Rosalind. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as 
softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. 

Orlando. Who stays he still withal ? 

Rosalind. With lawyers in the vacation ; for they sleep be- 
tween term and term, and then they perceive not how Time 
moves. 

Orlando. Where dwell you, pretty youth ? 

1 Seven nights, i.e., a week; as we say "fortnight," i.e., fourteen nights, 
for two weeks. 



64 SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

Rosalind. With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the skirts 
of the forest, Hke fringe upon a petticoat. 

Orla7ido. Are you native of this place ? 

Rosali7id. As the cony that you see dwell where she is kin- 
dled.i 

Orlando. Your accent is something finer than you could pur- 
chase 2 in so remov'd a dwelhng. 

Rosalind. I have been told so of many ; but, indeed, an old re- 
ligious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth 
an inland man; one that knew courtship ^ too well, for there he 
fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, 
and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many 
giddy offenses as he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. 

Orlando. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he 
laid to the charge of women ? 

Rosalind. There were none principal ; they were all like one 
another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till 
his fellow-fault came to match it. 

Orlajido. I prithee, recount some of them. 

Rosalind. No, I will not cast away my physic but on those 
that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our 
young plants with carving " Rosalind " on their barks ; hangs odes 
upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying 
the name of Rosahnd. If I could meet that fancymonger,* I 
would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the 
quotidian ^ of love upon him. 

Orlando. I am he that is so love-shak'd ; I pray you, tell me 
your remedy. 

Rosalind. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you. He 
taught me how to know a man in love, in which cage of rushes 
I am sure you are not prisoner. 

Orlando. What were his marks ? 

1 Brought forth. 2 Acquire. 

3 Court manners. Rosalind puns on the word. ■* One who deals in love. 

5 Quotidian fevers are those in which the paroxysms occur daily. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 65 

Rosalind. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye,^ 
and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable ^ spirit, 
which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not — 
but I pardon you for that, for simply ^ your having* in beard is a 
younger brother's revenue ; then your hose should be ungarter'd, 
your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe unti'd, 
and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. 
But you are no such man ; you are rather point-device ^ in your 
accouterments, as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any 
other. 

Orlando. Fair youth, I would I could make thee beheve I love. 

Rosalind. Me ^ believe it ! You may as soon make her that 
you love believe it^ which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to 
confess she does; that is one of the points in the which women 
still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are 
you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is 
so admired ? 

Orlando. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosa- 
lind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. 

Rosalind. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak ? 

Orlando. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. 

Rosalind. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves 
as well a dark house and a whip "^ as madmen do ; and the rea- 
son why they are not so punished and cured is that the lunacy is 
so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess cur- 
ing it by counsel. 

Orlando. Did you ever cure any so ? 

Rosalind. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine 
me his love, his mistress, and I set him every day to woo me ; 
at which time would I, being but a moonish ^ youth, grieve, be 

1 " Blue eye," i.e., blue beneath the eyelids, not in the iris. 

2 Unsociable. 3 Indeed. ^ Property. ^ Faultless. 
6 Object of "make" understood. 

"^ This barbarous treatment of lunatics prevailed till within the last fifty 
years. 8 Changeable. 



66 SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, 
apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every 
passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and 
women are for the most part cattle of this color ; would now like 
him, now loathe him ; then entertain him, then forswear him ; now 
weep for him, then spit at him ; that I drave my suitor from his 
mad humor of love to a living ^ humor of madness; which was, 
to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook 
merely 2 monastic. And thus I cured 'him; and this way will I 
take upon me to wash your liver ^ as clean as a sound sheep's 
heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. 

Orlando. I would not be cured, youth. 

Rosalind. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosa- 
lind and come every day to my cote and woo me. 

Orlajido. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me 
where it is. 

Rosalind. Go with me to it and I'll show it you ; and by the 
way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go ? 

Orlando. With all my heart, good youth. 

Rosalifid. Nay, you must call me RosaHnd. — Come, sister, 
will you go ? \Exeimt. 

Scene III. The Forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey ; Jaques behind. 

Touchsto7ie. Come apace,* good Audrey ; I will fetch up your 
goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey ? am I the man yet ? Doth 
my simple feature ^ content you ? 

Audrey. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what features ? 

Touchstofie. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most 
capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.^ 

1 Real. 2 Entirely. 

3 Old physiologists regarded the liver as the seat of the affections. 

4 Quickly. 5 Personal appearance. 

6 A pun is intended on the words " goats " and " Goths," the old pro- 
nunciation of Goths being as though it were spelled " Gotes." The pun is 



SCENE III.] . AS VOLT LIKE IT. 67 

Jaqiics. \Aside\ O knowledge ill inhabited, worse than Jove 
in a thatch'd house ! ^ 

ToucJistone. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor 
a man's good wit seconded with the forward child Understand- 
ing, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little 
room. 2 Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. 

Audrey, I do not know what "poetical" is. Is it honest in 
deed and word ? Is it a true thing ? 

ToucJistone. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the most feign- 
ing ; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in 
poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. 

Audrey. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me 
poetical ? 

Touchsfoue. I do, truly ; for thou swear'st to me thou art hon- 
est ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst 
feign. 

Aud^ry. Would you not have me honest ? 

Touchstone. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favored ; for 
honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. 

Jaques. [Aside] A material ^ fool ! 

Audrey. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods 
make me honest. 

Touchstone. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a fouH 
slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 

Audrey. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. 

Touchsto7ie. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! slut- 
tishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will 

helped out by the word "capricious," which is derived from the Latin 
caper (" goat"). 

1 Jupiter and Mercury, visiting the earth in disguise, came upon the hum- 
ble dwelling of Philemon and Baucis, and were so hospitably entertained by 
the worthy couple that Jupiter changed their thatched cottage into a superb 
temple, of which Baucis and her husband were made priests. (See Guerber's 
Myths of Greece and Rotne, p. 43. ) 

2 " Great reckoning," etc., i.e., a large bill for a small accommodation. 

3 Full of matter ; sensible. * Homely. 



68 SHAKESPEARE. ■ [act hi. 

marry thee ; and to that end I have been with Sir Ohver Mar- 
text, the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me 
in this place of the forest and to couple us. 

Jaques. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. 

Audrey. Well, the gods give us joy ! 

Touchstone, Amen ! Here comes Sir Oliver. — 

Enter SiR Oliver Martext. 

Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here 
under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ? 

Sir Oliver. Is there none here to give the woman ? 

Touchsto7ie. I will not take her on gift of any man. 

Sir Oliver. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not 
lawful. 

Jaques. [Advancing] Proceed, proceed ; I'll give her. 

Touchstone. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't ; how do 
you, sir ? You are very well met. God 'ild i you for your last 
company; I am very glad to see you; — even a toy^ in hand 
here, sir; — nay, pray be cover'd. 

Jaques. Will you be married, motley ? 

Touchstone. As the ox hath his bow,^ sir, the horse his curb, 
and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires ; and as pigeons 
bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. 

Jaques. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be mar- 
ried under a bush like a beggar ? Get you to church, and have 
a good priest that can tell you what marriage is. This fellow will 
but join you together as they join wainscot ; then one of you will 
prove a shrunk panel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. 

Touchsto7ie. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to 
be married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry 
me well, and not being well married, it will be a good excuse 
for me hereafter to leave my wife. 

Jaques. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 

1 Yield ; reward. 2 a trifling matter. 3 Yoke. 



SCENE IV.] AS VOU LIKE IT. 69 

Touchstone. Come, sweet Audrey. — 
Farewell, good Master Oliver; not,^ 
O sweet Oliver J 



O brave Oliver y 
Leave me not behind thee: 



but,— 



Wind away, 
Begone, I say, 
I will not to weddijtg wjth thee. 

\Exeimt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey. 

Sir Oliver. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical knave of them 

all shall flout me out of my calling. \Exit. 



Scene IV. The Forest. 

Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Rosalind. Never talk to me ; I will weep. 

Celia. Do, I prithee ; but yet have the grace to consider that 
tears do not become a man. 

Rosalind. But have I not cause to weep ? 

Celia. As good cause as one would desire ; therefore weep. 

Rosalifid. His very hair is of the dissembHng color. 

Celia. Something browner than Judas's ; ^ marry, his kisses are 
Judas's own children. 

Rosaliiid. V faith, his hair is of a good color. 

Celia. An excellent color; your chestnut was ever the only 
color. 

Rosalind. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of 
holy bread. 

Celia. He hath bought a pair of chaste lips of Diana.^ A nun 
of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously ; the very ice of 
chastity is in them. 

1 Judas is constantly represented in old paintings and tapestries with red 
hair and beard. 

2 See Note 5, p. 53. 



yo SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

Rosalind. But why did he swear he would come this morning, 
and comes not ? 

Celia, Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. 

Rosalitid. Do you think so ? 

Celia. Yes ; I think he is not a pickpurse nor a horse stealer, 
but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered 
goblet or a worm-eaten nut. 

Rosalifid. Not true in love ? 

Celia. Yes, when h^ is in ; but I think he is not in. 

Rosalind. You have heard him swear downright he was. 

Celia. " Was " is not '* is ; " besides, the oath of a lover is no 
stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are both the confirmers 
of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke 
your father. 

Rosalind. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question 
with him. He ask'd me of what parentage I was ; I told him, 
of as good as he ; so he laugh'd and let me go. But what talk 
we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando ? 

Celia. O, that's a brave man ! He writes brave verses, speaks 
brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite 
traverse, athwart the heart of his lover ; as a puisny ^ tilter, that 
spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff hke a noble 
goose. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. — Who 
comes here ? 

Enter CoRlN. 

Corin. Mistress and master, you have oft inquired 
After the shepherd that complain'd of love. 
Whom you saw sitting by me on the turf, 
Praising the proud, disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistress. 

Celia. Well, and what of him ? 

Corin. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
Between the pale complexion of true love 

1 Unskillful. 



SCENE v.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 71 

And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, 
Go hence a httle and I shall conduct you, 
If you will mark it. 

Rosalitid. O, come, let us remove ; 

The sight of lovers feedeth those in fove. — 
Bring us to see this sight, and you shall say 
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. \Exeunt 

Scene V. Another Part of the Forest, 

Enter SiLvius and Phebe. 

Silvius. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe; 
Say that you love me not, but say not so 
In bitterness. The common executioner, 
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, 
Falls not the ax 1 upon the humbled neck 
But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be 
Than he that dies and lives ^ by bloody drops ? 

^«^^r Rosalind, Celia, and Cori^, behind, 

Phebe. I would not be thy executioner ; 
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye ! 
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable. 
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies. 
Should b'e call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! 
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ; 
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee! 
Now counterfeit to swoon ; why, now fall down ; 
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame! 
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers ! 
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. 

1 " Falls not the ax," i.e., lets not the ax fall. 

2 " Dies and lives," i.e., lives and dies ; earns a livelihood. 



72 SHAKESPEARE. [act liL 

Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 

Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, 

The cicatrice ^ and capable impressure ^ 

Thy palm some moment keeps ; but now mine eyes, 

Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not ; 

Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 

That can do hurt. 

Silvius, O dear Phebe, 

If ever — as that ever may be near— 
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, 
Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
That love's keen arrows make. 

Phebe. But till that time 

Come not thou near me ; and when that time comes, 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
As till that time I shall not pity thee. 

Rosalind. \Advancing\ And why, I pray you ? Who might 
be your mother, 
That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
Over the wretched ? What though you have no beauty, — 
As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
Than without candle may go dark to bed, — 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? 
Why, what means this ? Why do you look on me ? 
I see no more in you than in the ordinary 
Of Nature's salework. — 'Od's my little hfe, 
I think she means to tangle my eyes too ! — 
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it. 
'Tis not your inky brows, your black-silk hair, 
Your bugle ^ eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, 
That can entame my spirits to your worship. — 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her. 
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain ? 

1 Scar; mark. 2 " Capable impressure," i.e., sensible impression. 

3 Jet black, like the beads called " bugles." 



SCENE v.] AS VOU LIKE IT. 73 

You are a thousand times a properer ^ man 
Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you 
That make the world full of ill-favor'd children. 
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ; . 
And out of you she sees herself more proper 
Than any of her lineaments can show her. — 
But, mistress, know yourself ; down on your knees, 
And thank Heaven, fasting, for a good man's love ; 
For I must tell you friendly in your ear, 
Sell when you can, — you are not for all markets. 
Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer. 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. — 
So take her to thee, shepherd ; fare you well. 

Phebe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together ; 
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 

Rosalind. He's fallen in love with your foulness,^ — and she'll 
fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee 
with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. — Why look 
you so upon me ? 

Phebe. For no ill will I bear you. 

Rosalind. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, 
For I am falser than vows made in wine ; 
Besides, I hke you not. — If you will know my house, 
'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. — 
Will you go, sister ? — Shepherd, ply her hard.- 
Come, sister. — Shepherdess, look on him better, 
And be not proud ; though all the world could see, 
None could be so abus'd*^ in sight as he. — 
Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. 

Phebe. Dead shepherd,^ now I find thy saw of might : 
"Who ever loved that loved not at first sight ?" 

1 Handsomer. 2 gee Note 4, p. 67. 3 Deceived. 

4 The reference is to Christopher Marlowe, who died in 1593; and the 
line quoted is from his Hero and Leander. " ' Shepherd ' is used for * poet ' 
in the language of pastoral poetry." 



74 SHAKESPEARE. [act hi. 

Silvius. Sweet Phebe, — 

Phebe. Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius ? 

Silvius. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 

Phebe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 

Silvius. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ; 
If you do sorrow at my grief in love. 
By giving love your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermin'd.i 

Phebe. Thou hast my love ; is not that neighborly ? 

Silvius. I would have you. 

Phebe. Why, that were covetousness. 

Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, 
And yet it is not that I bear thee love ; 
But since that thou canst talk of love so well, 
Thy company, which erst ^ was irksome to me, 
I will endure ; and I'll employ thee too ; 
But do not look for further recompense 
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 

Silvius. So holy and so perfect is my love, 
And I in such a poverty of grace. 
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
To glean the broken ears after the man 
That the main harvest reaps. Loose now and then 
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. 

Phebe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile ? 

Silvius. Not very well, but I have met him oft ; 
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds 
That the old carlot ^ once was master of. 

Phebe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ; 
'Tis but a peevish^ boy ; — yet he talks well. 
But what care I for words ? yet words do well 
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
It is a pretty youth — not very pretty; 
But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him ; 

1 Exterminated. 2 Lately. 3 Rustic. * Wayward. 



SCENE r.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 75 

He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him 

Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 

Did make offense his eye did heal it up. 

He is not very tall, yet for his y^ars he's tall; 

His leg is but so-so, and yet 'tis well ; 

There was a pretty redness in his lip, 

A little riper and more lusty red 

Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the difference 

Betwixt the constant ^ red and mingled damask. 

There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 

In parcels - as I did, would have gone near 

To fall in love with him ; but, for my part, 

I love him not nor hate him not ; and yet 

I have more cause to hate him than to love him ; 

For what had he to do to chide at me ? 

He said mine eyes were black and my hair black ; 

And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me. 

I marvel why I answer'd not again ; 

But that's all one — omittance is no quittance. 

I'll write to him a very taunting letter, 

And thou shalt bear it ; wilt thou, Silvius ? 

Silvius. Phebe, with all my heart. 

Phebe. I'll write it straight ; 

The matter's in my head and in my heart ; 
I will be bitter with him, and passing short. 
Go with me, Silvius. \Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. The Forest. 
Enter Rosalind, Celia, rt-//^/ Jaques. 

Jaques. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted 
with thee. 

Rosalijid. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
1 Uniform. " 2 Detail. 



76 SHAKESPEARE. [act iv. 

Jaqiies. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing. 

Rosalind. Those that are in extremity of either are abomi- 
nable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure ^ 
worse than drunkards. 

Jaqiies. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 

Rosalmd. Why, then, 'tis good to be a post. 

Jaqiies. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emu- 
lation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, 
which is proud, nor the soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the 
lawyer's, which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice,'-^ nor the 
lover's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, 
compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and, 
indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often 
rumination wraps me in a most humorous ^ sadness. 

Rosalind. A traveler ! By my faith, you have great reason to 
be sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's ; 
then to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes 
and poor hands. 

Jaques. Yes, I have gain'd my experience. 

Rosalmd. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather 
have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad ; 
and to travel for it too ! 

Enter Orlando. 

Orlando. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 

Jaques. Nay, then, God be wi' you, an* you talk in blank 
verse. \Exlt. 

Rosalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveler ; look you lisp and wear 
strange suits, disable^ all the benefits of your own country, be 
out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making 
you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have 
swam in a gondola.^ — ^Vhy, how now, Orlando ! where have 

1 " Modern censure," i.e., ordinary judgment. 

2 Fastidious. 3 Fanciful. * If. » Depreciate. 

6 Venice, built on small islands in a' lagoon, is intersected by canals ; and 



SCENE I J AS YOU LIKE IT. 77 

you been all this while ? You a lover ! An you serve me such 
another trick, never come in my sight more. 

Orlando. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my 
promise. 

Rosalind. Break an hour's promise in love ! He that will 
divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of 
the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be 
said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll 
warrant him heart-whole. 

Orlando. Pardon me, dear Rosalind, 

Rosalind. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my 
sight. I had as Hef be woo'd of a snail. 

Orlando. Of a snail ? 

Rosalind. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, he car- 
ries his house on his head, — a better jointure, ^ I think, than you 
can make a woman. Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am 
in a holiday humor and like enough to consent. What would 
you say to me now, an I were your very, very Rosalind ? 

Orlando. I would kiss before I spoke. 

Rosalind. Nay, you were better speak first, and when you 
were graveled ^ for lack of matter, you might take occasion to 
kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit ; and 
for lovers lacking — God warn us! ■ — matter, the cleanliest shift 
is to kiss. 

Orlando. How if the kiss be denied ? 

Rosalind. Then she puts you to entreaty^, and there begins 
new matter. 

Orlando. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? 

the gondola, the Venetian pleasure boat, serves the purpose of the cab or 
omnibus of other cities. In the sixteenth century Venice, being one of the 
gayest and most attractive capitals of Europe, vi^as a great resort of travelers ; 
and one who had never visited that city — never " swam in a gondola" — was 
hardly counted a traveler at all. 

1 " The settlement of property made at marriage on the wife, in case of 
her husband dying before her." 

2 Run aground, figuratively. 



78 SHAKESPEARE. [act iv. 

Rosalind. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or 
I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. 

Orla7ido. What, of my suit ? 

Rosalind. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. 
Am not I your Rosahnd ? 

Orlando. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be 
talking of her. 

Rosalind. Weh, in her person I say I will not have you. 

Orlando. Then in mine own person I die. 

Rosalind. No, faith, die by attorney.^ The poor world is al- 
most six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not 
any man died in his own person, videlicet,^ in a love cause. 
Troilus ^ had his brains dash'd out with a Grecian club ; yet he 
did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns 
of love. Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, though 
Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer 
night ; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the 
Hellespont, and being taken with the cramp, was drown'd ; and 
the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was *' Hero of Sestos." ^ 
But these are all lies ; men have died from time to time, and 
worms have eaten them, but not for love. 

Orlando. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, 
for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 

Rosalind. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now 

1 Substitute. 

2 Namely ; usually abbreviated to viz. 

3 A son of Priam, King of Troy, who was killed by Achilles during the 
Trojan War. The story of his love for Cressida, his faith and her perfidy, is 
the subject of Shakespeare's tragedy of Troilus and Cressida. 

^ "Leander . . . Hero of Sestos." The story, the theme of many poets, 
is familiar, Leander, a youth of Abydos, enamored of Hero, a priestess of 
Venus at Sestos, nightly swam the Hellespont to meet her, she guiding his 
course by a torchlight displayed from a high tower ; till on one wild and 
stormy night the adventurous lover was drowned, and Hero in despair threw 
herself into the sea and perished in the waves. (See Guerber's Myths of 
Greece and Rome, pp. 1 1 i-i 1 7. ) 



SCENE I.] AS YOU LIKE IT. "ic^ 

I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and 
ask me what you will, I will grant it. 

Orlando. Then love me, Rosalind. 

Rosalind. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. 

Orlando. And wilt thou have me ? 

Rosalmd. Ay, and twenty such. 

Orlando. What sayest thou ? 

Rosalind. Are you not good ? 

Orlando. I hope so. 

Rosalind. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good 
thing ? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us.— 
Give me your hand, Orlando. — What do you say, sister ? 

Orlando. Pray thee, marry us. 

Celia. I cannot say the words. 

Rosalind. You must begin, " Will you, Orlando," — 

Celia. Go to. — Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosahnd ? 

Orlajido. I will. 

Rosalind. Ay, but when ? 

Orlando. Why, now ; as fast as she can marry us. 

Rosalind. Then you must say, " I take thee, Rosalind, for 
wife." 

Orlando. I take thee, RosaHnd, for wife. 

Rosalind. I might ask you for your commission; ^ but — I do 
take thee, Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl goes before the 
priest ; and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions. 

Orlando. So do all thoughts ; they are wing'd. 

Rosalind. Now tell me how long you would have her after 
you have possess'd her. 

Orlando. For ever and a day. 

Rosalind. Say " a day," without the "ever." No, no, Orlando ; 
men are April when they woo, December when they wed ; maids 
are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they 
are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock 
pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot against rain, 

1 Warrant ; authority. 



8o SHAKESPEARE. [act iv. 

more newfangled ^ than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a 
monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain,^ 
and I will do that when you are dispos'd to be merry ; I will 
laugh like a hyen,^ and that when thou art inclin'd to sleep. 

Orlando. But will my Rosalind do so ? 

Rosalind. By my life, she will do as I do. 

Orlafido. O, but she is wise. 

Rosalijid. Or else she could not have the wit to do this ; the 
wiser, the way warder. Make* the doors upon a woman's wit, 
and it will out at the casement ; shut that, and 'twill out at the 
keyhole ; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. 

Orlando. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. 

Rosali7id. Alas ! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 

Orlando. I must attend the Duke at dinner ; by two o'clock I 
will be with thee again. 

Rosalind. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; I knew what you 
would prove. My friends told me as much, and I thought no 
less. That flattering tongue of yours won me ; 'tis but one cast 
away, and so, come, death ! — Two o'clock is your hour? 

Orlando. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 

Rosalind. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend 
me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break 
one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I 
will think you the most pathetical ^ break-promise, and the most 
hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, 
that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful; 
therefore beware my censure and keep your promise. 

Orlando. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my 
Rosalind. So, adieu ! 

Rosalind. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such 
offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. [Exit Orlafido. 

1 Changeable. 

2 Images of Diana were, and are, frequent ornaments in fountains. 

3 Hyena. The bark of this animal is not unlike a rude laugh. 

4 Close. 5 Canting; used here in a ludicrous sense. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 81 

Celia. You have simply misused our sex in your love prate. 

Rosaluid. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst 
know how many fathom deep I am in love ! But it cannot be 
sounded ; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of 
Portugal. 1 

Celia. Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection 
in, it runs out. 

jRosalmd. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was 
begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness, — that 
blind, rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes because his own 
are out, — let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, 
Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando; I'll go find a 
shadow,2 and sigh till he come. 

Celia. And I'll sleep. \Exeu7it. 

Scene II. The Forest. 
Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters. 
Jaques. Which is he that killed the deer ? 
A Lord. Sir, it was I. 

Jaques. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman con- 
queror ; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his 
head, for a branch of victory. — Have you no song, forester, for 
this purpose ? 

Forester. Yes, sir. 

Jaques. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make 
noise enough. 

Song. 

Forester. What shall he have that kilVd the deer? 

His leather skin and horns to wear. 
Then sing him hotne ; 

[The rest shall bear this burden. 

1 There is no such bay recognized by geographers ; but off the coast of 
Portugal, near Oporto, the water is exceedingly deep, and at a distance of 
twenty miles from shore attains a depth of eighty-five hundred feet. 

2 Shady place. 

6 



S2 SHAKESPEARE. [act iv. 

Take thou no scorn to wear the horn ; 
It was a crest ere thou wast born : 

Thy father'' s father wore ity 

And thy father bore it 
The horn, the horn, the lusty hortiy 
Is fiot a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt. 



Scene III. The Forest. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Rosalind. How say you now ? Is it not past two o'clock ? 
and here much Orlando ! 

Celia. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he 
hath ta'en his bow and arrows and is gone forth — to sleep. — 
Look who comes here. 

Enter SiLVius. 

Silvius. My errand is to you, fair youth. 
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this. [Giving a letter. 

I know not the contents' ; but, as I guess 
By the stern brow and waspish action 
Which she did use as she was writing of it, 
It bears an angry tenor. Pardon me ; 
I am but as a guiltless messenger. 

Rosalind. Patience herself would starde at this letter, 
And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all ! 
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners ; 
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me 
Were man as rare as phenix.i 'Od's my will ! 
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt. 
Why writes she so to me ? — Well, shepherd, well, 
This is a letter of your own device. 

1 According to the old and familiar fable, this bird, after living five hun- 
dred years, destroys itself by fire, and its successor arises from the ashes, 
there being but one phenix in existence at a time. 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. ^:^ 

Silvius. No, I protest, I know not the contents' ; 
Phebe did write it. 

Rosalind. Come, come, you are a fool, 

And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
I saw her hand ; she has a leathern hand, 
A freestone-color'd hand ; I verily did think 
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ; 
She has a huswife's hand ; but that's no matter. 
I say she never did invent this letter ; 
This is a man's invention and his hand. 

Silvius. Sure, it is hers. 

Rosalmd. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, 
A style for challengers ; why, she defies me. 
Like Turk to Christian! Woman's gentle brain 
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention. 
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect 
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter ? 

Silvius. So please you, for I never heard it yet ; 
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 

Rosalind. She Phebes me ; mark how the tyrant writes. 

\Reads. 

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, 
That a maideii's heart hath burn'd? — 

Can a woman rail thus ? — 
Silvius. Call you this railing ? 
Rosalind. \Reads\ 

Why, thy godhead laid apart, 

Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? — 

Did you ever hear such railing ? — 

Whiles the eye of man did woo me. 
That could do no vengeance to me. — 

Meaning me a beast. — 



54 SHAKESPEARE. [act iv. 

If the scorn of your bright eyne i 
Have power to raise such love in inittef 
Alack, in me what strange effect 
Would they work in mild aspect' / 
Whiles you chid vie, I did love ; 
How then might your prayers move! 
He that brijtgs this love to thee 
Little knows this love i?t nie j 
And by him seal up thy mind / 
Whether that thy youth and kind^ 
Will the faithful offer take 
Of me and all that I can 7nake s 
Or else by him my love deny, 
And then Pll study how to die. 

Silvius. Call you this chiding ? 

Celia. Alas, poor shepherd ! 

Rosalind. Do you pity him ? No, he deserves no pity. — Wilt 
thou love such a woman ? What, to make thee an instrument 
and play false strains upon thee ! — not to be endur'd ! — Well, go 
your way to her — for I see love hath made thee a tame snake ^ 
— and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love 
thee ; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat 
for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word ; for here 
comes more company. \Exit Silvius. 

Enter OLIVER. 

Oliver. Good morrow, fair ones ; pray you, if you know, 
Where in the purlieus * of this forest stands 
A sheepcote fenc'd about with oHve trees ? 

Celia. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom ; 
The rank ^ of osiers by the murmuring stream 
Left on your right hand brings you to the place. 
But at this hour the house doth keep itself ; 
There's none within. 

1 The old plural of "eye." 2 Natural disposition. 

3 Contemptible fellow. 4 Borders. ^ Row. 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 85 

Oliver. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
Then should I know you by description ; 
Such garments and such years : " The boy is fair, 
Of female favor, and bestows ^ himself 
Like a ripe 2 sister ; the woman low, 
And browner than her brother." Are not you 
The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 

Celia. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. 

Oliver. Orlando doth commend him to you both, 
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind 
He sends this bloody napkin.^ — Are you he ? 

Rosalind. I am. What must we understand by this ? 

Oliver. Some of my shame ; if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how and why and where 
This handkercher was stain'd. 

Celia. I pray you, tell it. 

Oliver. When last the young Orlando parted from you 
He left a promise to return again 
Within an hour ; and pacing through the forest, 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what befell ! He threw his eye aside. 
And mark what object did present itself ; 
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched, ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, 
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd 
The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly. 
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush ; under which bush's shade 
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. 
Lay couching,^ head on ground, with catlike watch, 

1 Conducts. 2 Elder. 3 Handkerchief. ^ Crouching. 



86 SHAKESPEARE. [act iv. 

When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis 
The royal disposition of that beast 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. 
This seen, Orlando did approach the man, 
And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 

Celia. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; 
And he did render ^ him the most unnatural 
That liv'd 'mongst men. 

Oliver. And well he might so do, 

For well I know he was unnatural. 

Rosaruid. But, to Orlando : did he leave him there, 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? 

Oliver. Twice did he turn his back and purpos'd so ; 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion. 
Made him give battle to the Hon ess. 
Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling 2 
From miserable slumber I awaked. 

Celia. Are you his brother ? 

Rosalind. Was't you he rescu'd ? 

Celia. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him ? 

Oliver. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I. I do not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 

Rosalind. But, for the bloody napkin ? 

Oliver. By and by. 

When from the first to last betwixt us two 
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, 
As how I came into that desert place ; — 
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, 
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, 
Committing me unto my brother's love ; 
Who led me instantly unto his cave. 
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 

1 Report. 2 Noise of the conflict. 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 87 

The lioness had torn some flesh away, 

Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted, 

And cried, in fainting, upon Rosahnd. 

Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound ; 

And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 

He sent me hither, stranger as I am, 

To tell this story, that you might excuse 

His broken promise, and to give this napkin 

Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth 

That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. [Rosalind sivoons, 

Celia. Why, how now, Ganymede ! sweet Ganymede ! 

Oliver. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 

Celia. There is more in it. — Cousin — Ganymede ! 

Oliver. Look, he recovers. 

Rosalmd. I would I were at home. 

Celia. We'll lead you thither. — 

I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 

Oliver. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man! you lack a 
man's heart. 

Rosalind. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would 
think this was well counterfeited ! I pray you, tell your brother 
how well I counterfeited. — Heigh-ho ! 

Oliver. This was not counterfeit ; there is too great testimony 
in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. 

Rosalind. Counterfeit, I assure you. 

Oliver. Well, then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a 
man. 

Rosalind. So I do ; but, i' faith, I should have been a woman 
by right. 

Celia. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw 
homewards. — Good sir, go with us. 

Oliver. That will I, for I must bear answer back 
How you excuse my brother, Rosahnd. 

Rosalind. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, com- 
mend my counterfeiting to him. — Will you go ? [Exeunt. 



S8 SHAKESPEARE, [act v, 

ACT V. 

Scene I. The Forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Touchstone. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle 
Audrey. 

Audrey. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old 
gentleman's saying. 

Touchsto7ie. A most wicked Sir Oliver; Audrey, a most vile 
Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays 
claim to you. 

Audrey. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in 
the world. Here comes the man you mean. 

Touchstojte. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By 
my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for ; we 
shall be flouting ; we cannot hold.i 

Enter William. 

William. Good even, Audrey. 
Audrey. God ye good even,- William. 
William. And good even to you, sir. 

Touchsto7ie. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover 
thy head ; nay, prithee, be cover'd. How old are you, friend ? 
William. Five and twenty, sir. 
Touchstone. A ripe age. Is thy name William ? 
William. William, sir. 

Touchstone. A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here ? 
William. Ay, sir, I thank God. 

Touchstone. "Thank God," — a good answer. Art rich ? 
William. Faith, sir, so-so. 

1 "We cannot hold," i.e., we cannot restrain ourselves; we must have 
our gibe. 

2 " God ye good even," i.e., God give you good even. 



SCENE I.J AS YOU LIKE IT. 89 

Touchstone. " So-so ". is good, very good, very excellent good ; 
— and yet it is not ; it is but so-so. Art thou wise ? 

William. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 

Touchstone. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a say- 
ing, "The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows 
himself to be a fool." The heathen philosopher, when he had a 
desire to eat a grape, would open his hps when he put it into his 
mouth ; meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips 
to open. You do love this maid ? 

William. I do, sir. 

Touchstone. Give me your hand. Art thou learned ? 

William. No, sir. 

Touchstone. Then learn this of me : to have is to have ; for it 
is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being pour'd out of a cup into a 
glass, by filling the one doth empty the other ; for all your writers 
do consent that ipse is he ; now, you are not ipse, for I am he. 

William. Which he, sir ? 

Touchstone. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, 
you clown, abandon — which is in the vulgar leave — the society 
— which in the boorish is company — of this female — which in 
the common is woman ; which together is, abandon the society 
of this female, or, clown, thou perishest ; or, to thy better under- 
standing, diest ; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate 
thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage ; I will deal in poi- 
son with thee, or in bastinado,^ or in steel ; I will bandy 2 with 
thee in faction ; I will o'errun thee with pohcy ; I will kill thee 
a hundred and fifty ways ; therefore tremble, and depart. 

Audrey. Do, good William. 

William. God rest you merry, sir. \Exit. 

Ente)' CoRiN. 

Covin. Our master and mistress seek you ; come, away, away ! 
Touchstone. Trip, Audrey ! trip, Audrey ! — I attend, I attend. 

\^Excunt. 
1 A blow with a cudgel. 2 Contend. 



90 SHAKESPEARE. [act v. 

Scene II. The Forest. 

Enter Orlando and Oliver. 

Orlando. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should 
like her ? that but seeing you should love her ? and loving woo ? 
and wooing she should grant 1 and will you persever ^ to enjoy 
her? 

Oliver. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty 
of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sud- 
den consenting ; but say with me, I love Aliena ; say with her 
that she loves me ; consent with both that we may enjoy each 
other. It shall be to your good ; for my father's house and all the 
revenue that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and 
here live and die a shepherd. 

Orlando. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to- 
morrow. Thither will I invite the Duke and all's contented fol- 
lowers. Go you and prepare Aliena ; for look you, here comes 
my Rosalind. 

Enter Rosalind. 

Rosalind. God save you, brother. 

Oliver. And you, fair sister. \Exit. 

Rosalind. O my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee 
wear thy heart in a scarf ! 

Orlando. It is my arm. 

Rosalind. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the 
claws of a lion. 

Orlando. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 

Rosalind. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to 
swoon when he show'd me yoiu" handkercher ? 

Orlando. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 

Rosalind. O, I know where you are.2 — Nay, 'tis true ; there was 
never anything so sudden but the fight of two rams, and Caesar's 

1 Persevere (accent on the second syllable). 

2 " Where you are," i.e., what you mean. 



SCENE II.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 9 1 

thrasonical ^ brag of " I came, saw, and overcame." 2 For your 
brother and my sister no sooner met but they look'd, no sooner 
look'd but they lov'd, no sooner lov'd but they sigh'd, no sooner 
sigh'd but they ask'd one another the reason, no sooner knew the 
reason but they sought the remedy ; and in these degrees have 
they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb in- 
continent ; 3 they are in the very wrath of love, and they will to- 
gether ; clubs cannot part them. 

Orla7ido. They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid the 
Duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into 
happiness through another man's eyes ! By so much the more 
shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how 
much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes 
for. 

Rosalind. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for 
Rosalind ? 

Orlaiido. I can live no longer by thinking. 

Rosalind, I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. 
Know of me then — for now I speak to some purpose — that I 
know you are a gentleman of good conceit.^ I speak not this 
that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch 
I say I know you are; neither do I labor for a greater esteem 
than may in some little measure draw a behef from you, to do 
yourself good and not to grace me. Beheve then, if you please, 
that I can do strange things. I have, since I was three year old, 
convers'd with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not 
damnable.^ If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your 
gesture ^ cries it out, when 3^our brother marries Aliena, shall you 
marry her. I know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; and 

1 Extravagantly boastful. 

2 It was after his swift and total defeat of Pharnaces, King of Pontus, at 
Zela (45 B.C.), that Julius Csesar sent to the Roman senate the celebrated dis- 
patch, Veni, vidi, vici (" I came, I saw, I overcame "). 

3 Immediately. ^ Intelligence, 

5 Worthy of condemnation. 6 Speech and action. 



92 SHAKESPEARE. [act v. 

it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, 
to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is and with- 
out any danger. 

Orlando. Speak'st thou in sober meanings ? 

Rosalmd. By my hfe, I do ; which I tender dearly,^ though I 
say I am a magician.^ Therefore put you in yom- best array; 
bid your friends ; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall, 
and to Rosalind, if you will. 

Enter SiLVius and Phebe. 

Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. 

Phebe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, 
To show the letter that I writ ^ to you. 

Rosalind. I care not if I have ; it is my study 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. 
You are there followed by a faithful shepherd ; 
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 

Phebe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. 

Sllvius. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phebe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orlando. And I for Rosalind. 

Rosalind. And I for no woman. 

Silvius. It is to be all made of faith and service ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phebe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orlando. And I for Rosalind. 

Rosalind. And I for no woman. 

Silvius. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
All made of passion and all made of wishes, 

1 " Tender dearly," i.e., value highly. 

2 Under the provisions of statutes in force in England in Shakespeare's 
time, the practice of witchcraft, magic, etc., was an offense punishable with 
one year's imprisonment for the first conviction, and death and forfeiture of 
goods for the second. 3 Old form of " wrote." 



SCENE III.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 93 

All adoration, duty, and observance,^ 

All humbleness, all patience and impatience, 

All purity, all trial, all observance ; 

And so am I for Phebe. 

Phebe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Oi'lando. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Rosali7id. And so am I for no woman. 

Phebe. If this be so, why blanie you me to love you ? 

Silvius. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

Orlando. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

Rosalind. Who do you speak to, "Why blame you me to 
love you ? " 

Orlando. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

Rosalind. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the howling of 
Irish wolves- against the moon. — \To Silvms] I will help you, if 
I can. — [To Phebe] I would love you, if I could. — To-morrow 
meet me all together. — [To Phebe] I will marry you, if ever I 
marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow. — [To Orlando] I 
will satisfy you, if ever I satisfi'd man, and you shall be married 
to-morrow. — [To Silvms] I will content you, if what pleases you 
contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. — [ To Orlando] 
As you love Rosalind, meet. — [To Silvius] As you love Phebe, 
meet; — and as I love no woman, I'll meet. — So fare you well; 
I have left you commands. 

Silvius. I'll not fail, if I live, 

Phebe. Nor I. 

Orlando. Nor I. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The Forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Touchstone. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; to-morrow 
will we be married. 

1 Readiness to serve. 

2 The howling of a pack of wolves is monotonous and dismal whenever 
and wherever heard. 



94 SHAKESPEARE, [act v. 

Audrey. I do desire it with all my heart ; and I hope it is no 
dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world.^ Here 
come two of the banish' d Duke's pages. 

Enter tzvo Pages. 

First Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 

Touchstone. By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song. 

Secofid Page. We are for you ; sit i' the middle. 

First Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or 
spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only 2 prologues 
to a bad voice ? 

Second Page. I' faith, i' faith; and both in a tune, like two 
gypsies on a horse. 

Song. 

// was a lover and his lass, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey noninOj 

That o'er the green corjifield did pass 
hi the springtime, the only pretty ringtime, 

When birds do sing, hey dijig a ding, ding; 

Sweet love7's love the spring. 

Betweeji the acres of the rye, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 

These pretty country folks would lie. 
In springtime, etc. 

This carol they bega^i that hour. 

With a hey^ and a ho, and a hey nonino. 

How that a life was but a flower 
In springtime, etc. 

And therefore take the present time. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino ; 

For love is crowned with the prifne 
In springtijne, etc. 

1 ** A woman of the world," i.e., a married woman. 

2 " The only," i.e., only the. 



I 
I 



SCENE IV.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 95 

Touchstone. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no 
great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untunable. 

First Page. You are deceiv'd, sir ; we kept time, we lost not 
our time. 

Touchstone. By my troth, yes ; I count it but time lost to hear 
such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your 
voices ! — Come, Audrey. \Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The Forest. 
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, and Celia. 

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
Can do all this that he hath promised ? 

Orlando. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not ; 
As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 

Rosalifid. Patience once more, whiles our compact' is urg'd. — 
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
You will bestow her on Orlando here ? 

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. 

Rosalijid. And you say you will have her, when I bring her ? 

Orhmdo. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 

Rosalind. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing ? 

Fhebe. That will I, should I die the hour after. 

Rosalind. But if you do refuse to marry me, 
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ? 

Phebe. So is the bargain. 

Rosalind. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will ? 

Silvius. Though to have her and death were both one thing. 

Rosalind. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. — 
Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter. — 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter. — 
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, 
Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd. — 



g6 SHAKESPEARE. [act v. 

Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her, 

If she refuse me: — and from hence I go, 

To make these doubts all even. \Exetmt Rosalind a?td Celia. 

Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd boy 
Some lively touches of my daughter's favor. 

Orlando. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him 
Methought he was a brother to your daughter; 
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate ^ studies by his uncle, 
Whom he reports to be a great magician. 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Jaques. There is, sure, another flood toward,^ and these couples 
are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, 
which in all tongues are called fools. 

Touchstone. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 

Jaques. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley- 
minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest; he 
hath been a courtier, he swears. 

Touchstone. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my 
purgation. I have trod a measure ; ^ I have flatter'd a lady ; 
I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy ; 
I have undone three tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like 
to have fought one. 

Jaques. And how was that ta'en up ? * 

Touchstone. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon 
the seventh cause. 

Jaques. How seventh cause ? — Good my lord, like this fellow. 

Duke S. I like him very well. 

Touchsto7ie. God 'ild you, sir ; I desire you of the like. I press 
in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives,^ to swear 

1 Unlawful. 2 At hand. 3 Stately dance. 

4 Taken up, i.e., made up. 5 Candidates for marriage. 



SCENE IV.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 97 

and to forswear ; according as marriage binds and blood breaks. 
A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favor'd thing, sir, but mine own ; a poor 
humor of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will. Rich hon- 
esty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house ; as your pearl in 
your foul oyster. 

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.^ 

ToucJistojie. According to the fool's bolt,^ sir, and such dulcet 
diseases. 

Jaqices. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the 
quarrel on the seventh cause ? 

Touchstone. Upon a lie seven times removed, — bear your 
body more seeming,^ Audrey, — as thus, sir. I did dislike the 
cut of a certain courtier's beard ; he sent me word, if I said his 
beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was ; this is call'd 
the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not 
well cut, he would send me word he cut it to please himself ; 
this is call'd the Quip ^ Modest. If, again, it was not well cut, 
he disabled my judgment ; this is call'd the Reply Churlish. If 
again it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true ; 
this is call'd the Reproof Valiant. If again it was not well cut, 
he would say, I Hed; this is call'd the Countercheck Quarrel- 
some ; and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. 

Jaqucs. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut ? 

Touchstone. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, 
nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct ; and so we measur'd 
swords and parted. 

Jaques. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie ? 

Touchstojie. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book, as you 
have books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. 
The first, the Retort Courteous ; the second, the Quip Modest ; 
the third, the Reply Churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant ; 
the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with 

1 " Swift and sententious," i.e., ready-witted. 

2 " The fool's bolt is soon shot " is proverbial. 

3 Seemly. 4 A quip is a gibe. 

7 



98 SHAKESPEARE. [act v. 

Circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may 
avoid but the Lie Direct ; and you may avoid that, too, with an 
If. I knew v\^hen seven justices could not take up a quarrel, 
but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought 
but of an If, as, "If you said so, then I said so;" and they 
shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peace- 
maker ; much virtue in If. 

Jerques . Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? He's as good at 
anything, and yet a fool. 

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse,^ and under 
the presentation of that he shoots his wit. 

Enter Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia. 

[Still music. 
Hyme7i. Then is there mirth in heaven, 
When earthly things made even 

Atone together.2 
Good Duke, receive thy daughter; 
Hymen ^ from heaven brought her. 

Yea, brought her hither, 
That thou mightst join her hand with his 
Whose heart within her bosom is. 

Rosalind. [ To Duke\ To you I give myself, for I am yours. — 
[ To Orlando] To you I give myself, for I am yours. 

Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. 

Orlando. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosahnd 

Phebe. If sight and shape be true, 
Why, then, my love, adieu ! 

Rosalind. [To Duke] I'll have no father, if you be not he. — 
[To Orlando] I'll have no husband, if you be not he. — 
[ To Phebe] Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 

1 A stalking-horse is a horse, or the semblance of one, by means of which 
the sportsman conceals himself from his prey. 

2 " Atone together," i.e., harmonize. 3 The god of marriage. 



SCENE iv.J AS YOU LIKE IT. 99 

Hymen. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion. 

'Tis I must make conclusion 

Of these most strange events. 

Here's eight that must take hands 

To join in Hymen's bands, 

If truth holds true contents^ — 
You and you no cross shall part ; — 
You and you are heart in heart ; — 
You to his love must accord, 
Or have a woman to your lord ; — 

You and you are sure together. 

As the winter to foul weather. — 

Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing, 

Feed yourselves with questioning; 

That reason wonder may diminish, 

How thus we met, and these things finish. 

Song. 

Wedding is great Juno's crown ; 

O blessed bond of board and bed / 
' Tis Hymen peoples every town ; 

High wedlock then be honored. 
Honor ^ high honor a7id renow?ty 
To Hymen, god of every town / 

Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me ! — 
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. 

Phebe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine ; 
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.^ 

Enter Jaques de Bois. 

Jaques de Bois. Let me have audience for a word or two. 
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, 
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly, 

1 Bind. 






lOO SHAKESPEARE. [act v. 

Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 

Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 

Address'd i a mighty power ; which were on foot, 

In his own conduct, purposely to take 

His brother here and put him to the sword ; 

And to the skirts of this wild wood he came. 

Where meeting with an old religious man, 

After some question ^ with him, was converted 

Both from his enterprise and from the world, 

His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, 

And all their lands restor'd to them again |j 

That w^ere with him exil'd. This to be true, " 

I do engage my life. 

Duke S. Welcome, young man; 

Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding. 
To one his lands withheld, and to the other 
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest let us do those ends 
That here were well begun and well begot ; 
And after, every of this happy number 
That have endur'd shrewd ^ days and nights with us 
Shall share the good of our returned fortune, 
According to the measure of their states. 
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity. 
And fall into our rustic revelr}\ — 
Play, music ! — And you, brides and bridegrooms all, 
AVith measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 

Jaques. Sir, by your patience. — If I heard you rightly. 
The Duke hath put on a religious life 
And thrown into neglect the pompous court ? 

Jaqiies de Bo is. He hath. 

Jaques. To him will I ; out of these convertites* 
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. — 
[ To Duke\ You to your former honor I bequeath ; 

1 Made ready. 2 Discourse. 3 Evil. ^ Converts. 



SCENE IV.] AS ¥01/ LIKE IT. loi 

Your patience and your virtue well deserves it. — 

[ To Orlando] You to a love that your true faith doth merit. — 

[ To Oliver] You to your land and love and great allies. — 

[ To Silvius] You to a long and well-deserved bed. — 

\To Touchsto7ie\ And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage 

Is but for two months victual'd. — So, to your pleasures; 

I am for other than for dancing measures. 

Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 

Jaqiies. To see no pastime I ; what you would have I'll sta,y 
to know at your abandon'd cave. \Exit. 

Duke S. Proceed, proceed ; we will begin these rites, 
As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. \A daiice^ 

Epilogue. 

Rosalind. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue ; 
but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. 
If it be true that good wine needs no bush,i 'tis true that a good 
play needs no epilogue ; yet to good wine they do use good 
bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good 
epilogues. What a case am I in, then, that am neither a good 
epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good 
play ! I am not furnish'd^ like a beggar, therefore to beg will 
not become me. My way is to conjure you ; and I'll begin with 
the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to 
men, to like as much of this play as please you; — and I charge 
you, O men, for the love you bear to women — as I perceive, by 
your simpering, none of you hates them — that between you and 
the women the play may please. If I were a woman ^ I would 

I " Good wine," etc. ** It appears formerly to have been the custom to 
hang a tuft of ivy at the door of a vintner. I suppose ivy was chosen rather 
than any other plant as it has relation to Bacchus." (Steevens's note, quoted 
by Furness.) 

' Dressed. 

3 There were no actresses on the stage in England before the time of 



I02 SHAKESPEARE. [act v. 

kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions 
that lik'd me,i and breaths that I defied not ; ~ and, I am sure, 
as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, 
for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. 

\Exeu7it. 

Charles II. Women's parts in plays were performed by men. Samuel Pepys 
has this note in his Diary: "January 3, 1660. — To the theater, where was 
acted The Beggar's Bush, it being very well done ; and here, the first time 
that ever I saw a woman come upon the stage." 

1 " That lik'd me," i.e., that I liked. 

2 " That I defied not," i.e., that were not repulsive to me. 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS FOR 
STUDY. 

The. "Four Periods." — For a century or more, scholarship has 
been striving to follow Shakespeare from his fourteenth to his eight- 
eenth year; to discover where he obtained his marvelous knowledge 
of medicine, law, and theology; to learn where he accumulated and 
assimilated the enormous body of practical psychology which must 
have been his even before he went up to London — and a host of similar 
things. Among the most interesting and instructive results of all 
this work is general agreement regarding the so-called "four periods" 
of Shakespeare's development as a writer of plays. By collating 
historical facts, accounts written by persons who attended the plays, 
private references to the dramas, and casual m.ention of Shakespeare 
by his contemporaries, but chiefly by studying certain differences 
within the plays themselves, the investigators have substantially 
agreed that Shakespeare's work falls into four periods which probably 
correspond to his experience of Ufe: 

1. The first, which extends from his arrival in London to 1595, 
was a period of experimentation. It was marked, as might be ex- 
pected, by sanguineness and exuberant imagination, and was pro- 
ductive principally of comedy. Typical plays of this period are Lovers 
Labour's Lost, Comedy of Errors, Two Gentlemen of Verona, Romeo 
and Juliet, and Richard IIL 

2. The second, 1 595-1600, was a period of rapid growth and re- 
markable technical development, characterized by deeper insight 
into human nature, greater dramatic power, and, towards the end, 
by just a touch of sadness. (Jaques in As You Like It.) Among the 
plays representative of this period are Merchant of Venice, Taming 
of the Shrew, Much Ado About Nothing, Henry V, and ^4^ You Like It. 

3. It was in the third period, 1601-1608, that Shakespeare reached 
the full maturity of his powers. Characterized as a period of "gloom 

103 



I04 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 

and depression," these six or seven years produced in rapid succession 
the most powerful group of tragedies ever penned. The causes of his 
manifest sadness are not certainly known; but we attribute it to the 
death of his father, the imprisonment of one of his friends, the exe- 
cution of another, and the sickening disappointment caused, probably, 
by the act of a third who had deceived him. Julius Coesar, Hamlet, 
Othello, Macbeth, and King Lear are the great plays of the period. 

4. Shakespeare's productive life closed with a period of peace and 
serenity. He had practically withdrawn from the turmoil of London 
to live his own hfe at quiet Stratford. Written here among the 
earliest recollections of his childhood, the plays of this period breathe 
the spirit of peace and forgiveness, of atonement and reconciliation. 
Of these latest works, The Winter's Tale and The Tempest are the 
best known. 

Shakespeare was first an actor; then a reviser of old plays; and 
finally an independent dramatist. His first plays are relatively crude; 
his work increases in power and in dramatic technique; his finished 
productions came only after years of assiduous labor. Granting then, 
that his was transcendent genius, we are greatly helped to understand 
both the man and the plays by knowing that it was the orderly de- 
velopment of that genius through years of study and labor that pro- 
duced the works which all the world loves. He, like the rest of 
mankind, had to learn his business; and it was our great fortune that 
his genius fell into just the world needed to energize it. 



SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 

The following outline aims almost solely at the development of the 
literary side of the study; questions of parsing, points of Elizabethan 
grammar, lists of subjects for compositions, and so on, have all been 
intentionally excluded. It is believed that whatever of these matters 
is necessary to understanding the play can be best dealt with by the 
teacher, who will probably touch them as hghtly as possible and go 
on with the main business of the literature lesson, viz., the study of 
literature. 

It is hoped, then, that the following outline will prove a real stimulus 
to literary appreciation. Variously modified, it has been tried in 



SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 105 

many classes; it has almost always proved its worth. It is not 
''original," nor startling, nor brilliant; it is practical. It is appended 
here not because it offers the only way to teach this play, but because 
it has proved, in many cases, a stimulating way. It is only hoped that 
whoever may use it will find at the end of the study that his students 
have come to some sincere appreciation of the play itself, and to a 
reasonable understanding of Shakespeare's genius. 

I. Preparation. — If the class has already worked through one 
or more of the Shakespeare plays, a good approach to the study of 
As You Like It will include a rapid review of the facts previously 
learned about the author and his work — say, an ampKfication of the 
matter on these points summarized in the introduction to this volume. 
Special emphasis might be laid upon one — any one — of the points so 
treated. This work will naturally send the students to the authorities, 
and one of its results may well be the formulation of a number of 
questions regarding general quahties of Shakespeare's work which 
the class may lay aside to answer at the close of the study of this play. 

If, however, this is the first experience in Shakespeare, the best 
introduction is, of course, reading the play itself. 

II. The First Reading. — As far as possible every play should 
be read aloud in class; but owing to lack of time, this counsel of 
perfection can rarely be followed. The chief purpose of the first 
reading is to get a clear idea of the development of the story. Often 
this can best be done by having the pupils outhne the movement in 
their notebooks, scene by scene, as the reading proceeds, the teacher 
examining the books at convenient intervals. The teacher might 
begin the reading in order to strike the keynote and put the class in 
the right attitude toward the play. If lack of time forbids reading 
the whole play in class, part of it may be done at home; then a few 
pointed questions at the beginning of each lesson must determine 
how inteUigently the students have read out of class. As You Like 
It especially repays oral reading; even if some other phases of the 
work have to be abridged, the finest passages should be read aloud. 

While this is going forward, the memory passages, which should 
have been announced at the beginning of the study, may be recited, 
one or two at each lesson. • 



I06 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 

The first reading, then, should show three results: the student 
should know the story in an orderly way; he should have the char- 
acters clearly differentiated; and he should have memorized the 
passages selected. He is now ready for the Second Reading. 

III. Second Reading. — Here we want a close analytic study: 
explanation of unusual words and constructions; interpretation of 
difficult passages; study of plot, and of character and motive; arousal 
of appreciation of the universal truth, or beauty, or power of the 
memory passages. In practice, it has worked well to assign for 
investigation and study questions and suggestions like the following: 

Act I, Scene i. — Compare this scene with the opening scene of the 
Merchant of Venice. Which seems the more direct? Note that this 
scene is almost entirely exposition of the situation. Why does Charles 
tell so much of the court news? Does not OHver probably know all 
of it? Is any character important to the main story either absent or 
unmentioned? Resolve the characters into groups and show how they 
are preparing for the complication. Here have a comparison of one 
or two other opening scenes to show Shakespeare's skill in the expo- 
sition of his plays. Have we any hint in Charles' last speech of the 
result of the wrestling match? Is Oliver's motive simple jealousy, or 
wounded pride? Study carefully his last speech. How do we account 
for his injustice to Orlando? 

Scene ii. — What similarity in situation and mood is there between 
Orlando and Rosalind when we first meet them? May this partly 
account for their falling in love at first sight? What is the dramatic 
purpose of Rosalind's playful inquiry — "what think you of falHng in 
love"? Does RosaKnd at first manifest more interest in Orlando than 
Ceha does? "Pity is akin to love." Why the change from prose to 
verse in the Duke's speech, bottom p. 26? Does Orlando call Rosahnd 
and Celia back? Had he done anything to justify Rosalind's return? 
Why is Le Beau, like every one else, favorably disposed toward 
Orlando at their first meeting? 

Scene Hi. — Where in Scenes i and ii has Rosalind's banishment been 
foreshadowed? Why is she banished? Compare diver's real opinion 
of Orlando with the Duke's of Rosahnd. How shall we reconcile 
Charles' account of the date of the old Duke's banishment with 
Charles' references to the same event? Is it necessary to reconcile 



SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 107 

them? Is Touchstone all fool? If so, why should the ladies desire to 
take him with them? Compare him with Wamba. 

Note. — We have in Act I the introduction, the exposition, the excit- 
ing force, and the beginning of the rising action (complication). At 
this point some work on dramatic structure might well be intro- 
duced. 

Act II, Scene i. — If we judge from the opening speech, should 
Duke S. or his usurping brother make the better ruler? What is the 
dramatic purpose of the rest of the scene? What do you think is the 
basis of the mutual attraction between Duke S. and Jaques? What 
is accomphshed in this scene? Is there any movement of the plot? 

Scene it. — Note progress of the complication ; note also that it is a 
woman who intimates that the runaway is an elopement. Does 
Duke F. wish to bring back all the runaways? How has Shakespeare 
managed to give the impression that the first three scenes in Act II 
are concurrent? 

Scene in. — Here is one of our best opportunities to study Orlando. 
Note how he reacts to his difficulties, and how clearly Duke F.'s 
reasons for banishing Rosalind are paralleled. 

Why is Orlando's lodging to be burnt "this night"? Interpret 
Adam's "... not my master's debtor" in the rime closing the 
scene. Why should both our banished groups gravitate to the Forest of 
Arden — i. e., why not to some city or some other part of the country? 

Scene iv. — Many editions show in the first line the word merry where 
we have weary. Give reasons for your own preference. Does Ceha 
hear the first six lines? The entrance of Corin and Silvius marks one 
of the frequent changes from prose to verse. Can you account for 
this or any other of these changes? Do you think that Rosalind in- 
tended her "Alas, poor shepherd! . . . " as an aside, and that Touch- 
stone overheard it, or was he already privy to her having fallen in 
love? Is Touchstone a "true" lover? What of his "I shall ne'er 
be 'ware of mine own wit till I break my shins against it"? What is 
actually accomplished in this scene? 

Scene v. — Where and how have we been prepared for the character 
whom we first meet in this scene? How does his wit differ from Touch- 
stone's? Note that "ducdame" is not Greek at all, but if anything, 
possibly Latin (due ad me); it affords Jaques the opportunity of 



io8 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 

venting a characteristic morsel, "fools into a circle." What is the 
purpose of this scene? (See Third Reading.) 

Scene vi. — This scene is parallel to what earlier one? 

Scene vii. — Here we must make our principal study of Jaques, if 
we are to understand him. Is he a mere cynic? How comes it that 
the only human being he ever praises is Touchstone? Note Duke S.'s 
very straight talk to Jaques, apropos of the latter's earlier life. Note 
the tone of the cynic's "table talk" — especially the last Hne, "Sans 
teeth, sans eyes . . . sans everything." It is interesting to know 
that the motto of the Globe, Shakespeare's theater, was Totus mimdus 
agit histrionem. Has Amiens' song any bearing upon the story? 
What is going forward during the singing? Why does Adam disappear 
from the play at this point? 

Note. — ^Act II carries the comphcation well towards the cHmax. 
Note that five of the seven scenes occur in the Forest of Arden. 

Act III, Scene ^'.-T-What does this scene accomphsh? Oliver's 
injustice now demands its penalty. What is the significance of Duke 
F.'s "More villain thou"? 

Scene ii. — In this scene we have the best expositions of Touch- 
stone's, Jaques', and Rosalind's humor. Can you characterize each? 
Towards what situation in this scene has every previous scene been 
working? Why Rosalind's eager curiosity to know the author of the 
verses? Remember that she has no reason even to suspect that 
Orlando is in the forest. Is Celia's teasing natural? Why Rosahnd's 
trepidation when she learns the truth? She knows she is in love with 
Orlando; has she any reason to believe that he is in love with her? 
Point out the passage that has so suddenly endowed her with as- 
surance to tease Orlando. Note how she answers the questions that 
refer to herself. Whence had she reaUy derived her comprehensive 
knowledge of the symptoms and cure of love? Does it seem natural 
that Orlando should not pierce Rosahnd's disguise? Would this seem 
more reasonable to an Elizabethan audience? Compare, for the 
reverse situation, the interview between Ivanhoe and Rowena. What 
do you think Celia has been doing all this while? Is it in character 
that Orlando and Jaques should jar? 

Scene in. — What do we know of Touchstone's previous love affairs? 
Is it reasonable that he should woo so unsophisticated a person as 



SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 109 

Audrey? Note that "simple feature" in his opening question may- 
mean the modest love-verses presently alluded to. Was not Touch- 
stone something of a poet himself? How shall we classify this scene 
as to dramatic purpose? 

Scene iv. — What is the immediate cause of Rosalind's crying? 
Note that Celia dehberately falls in with Rosalind's abuse of Orlando, 
and is soundly berated for her pains. Is this little by-play natural? 

Scene v. — Why do you think Rosalind takes Silvius' part? How 
many examples of love at first sight have we in the play? Try to 
realize Phebe by reading carefully her speech beginning at the bottom 
of page 74. Is she attracted by Ganymede's appearance or by his 
quahties? What is the dramatic purpose of this scene? 

Note. — ^Act III brings us to the climax. Now begins the resolution. 

Act IV, Scene i. — Can you imagine why Jaques is introduced at 
the beginning of this scene? Why Rosalind's unusually keen chiding 
of Orlando here? Does she overdo in the mock-marriage scene? Is 
Celia vexed by Rosalind's abusing their sex, or is she only tiring of 
her part in another's love-making? What is accomplished in this 
scene? 

Scene ii. — What is the purpose of this "noisy" scene? 

Scene Hi. — How are we to account for Rosalind's heat in handling 
Phebe's letter and for her characterization of Silvius as a "tame 
snake "? Can you think of any reason why Oliver's rescue is described, 
rather than acted on the stage? Have we had any intimation of the 
"conversion" of Oliver? Do you think Oliver guesses Rosahnd's 
sex when she faints? Is there any indication here of the love of Celia 
and Oliver? 

Note. — Act IV continues the resolution and foreshadows the con- 
clusion. Our several groups are rapidly drawing together. 

Act V, Scene i. — What do you consider the best things in this 
passage of Touchstone's "dehcious foolery"? Has he been at a feast 
of knowledge, and "stolen the scraps"? 

Scene ii. — In view of his own experience, what do you think of 
Orlando's opening questions to Oliver? Is there a double meaning 
in Oliver's addressing Rosahnd as "Sister"? Has Ceha told? Is 
there any ground for thinking that Oliver has, in turn, told Orlando? 



no SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 

Why Rosalind's nervous haste to begin on OHver's own love-stroke? 
Can you see why Rosalind "leads the whole party into this game of 
cross-purposes"? Why should she not here have thrown off her 
disguise — why all this magician mummery? Note how tickhsh a 
situation Rosahnd has involved herself in, and how cleverly she 
escapes by a promise to each of her questioners. It is evident that 
the final resolution is at hand, for she can go no further in any direction 
without tripping. 

Scetie in. — What, again, do you think is the purpose of this brief 
scene? 

Scene iv. — Is Touchstone true to liimself in his famous " . . . an 
ill favor'd thing, sir, but mine own"? Does not Touchstone's long 
harangue seem to delay the imminent conclusion? Why does Jaques 
leave the party? Note his final fling at Touchstone. 

Why does the Epilogue say, "If I were a woman"? 

IV. Third Reading. — The final reading of the play attempts to 
gather into a well-rounded whole the results of the entire study. 

A plan that has worked well is to have the student enter in his 
notebook his answers to the questions and his development of the 
topics suggested below. He will thus have, at the conclusion of the 
study, a body of notes which he may not only submit for a grade, 
but which will be well worth preserving. He ought, in every case, 
however, to substantiate his statements or give the grounds for his 
opinions by referring to specific pr.ssages of the play. 

I. Setting. — Where is the Forest of Arden? Is it in a temperate 
or a tropical region? Is there any specific description of the trees, 
undergrowth, thickets, or streams? How do we get to know so much 
about it? Is it because we know Sherwood Forest? Can you see how 
we come to feel that the whole play breathes of life in the open? 
What sort of life do the dwellers in the Forest lead? Had Shakespeare 
had opportunity to know this life? 

II. Plot. — Is the plot simple or complex? Point out the exciting 
cause; trace the plot through the complication to the climax; and 
follow the resolution to the end. How many subordinate stories are 
there? Why are they introduced? Are they genuine subplots? 
Show how they are connected with the main plot. What characters 
are Shakespeare's own, i. e., neither mentioned nor hinted at in The 



SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. ill 

Tale of Gamelyn, or in Lodge's Rosalynd? What light does this throw 
on his method of using materials that were common to all writers of 
his time? Account for the name of the play. Does it not end exactly 
as we should like it to do? What of the lions, serpents, palm trees, 
wintry winds, bitter skies, and other incongruities? May not this 
indicate intention on Shakespeare's part? Are any of the events 
improbable? Does the improbability render the play less enjoyable? 

III. Characters. — 

(a) Orlando : Why are we drawn to him? Adduce as many reasons 
as possible. Has he a single disagreeable or faulty trait? Note es- 
pecially what others say of him. 

{h) Oliver: Can you account for his "conversion"? Are his ban- 
ishment and his subsequent rescue by the brother he had injured 
adequate to bring about the change? 

(c) The two Dukes: Are they mere lay figures, or do they seem 
to be real persons? 

{d) Jaques: What characteristic of Jaques differentiates him from 
the rest of the Duke's party? What, exactly, do you understand by 
his "melancholy"? Try to distinguish for yourself between his 
philosophy and Touchstone's, and to determine which you like better. 
Which was the better man? Does Jaques belong in so care-free a 
company? Why do you suppose Shakespeare placed him there? 
And, especially, why has Jaques so many of the finest passages? 

{e) Touchstone: Compare him with a few other Shakespeare 
clowns, — Gobbo and Autolycus, for instance. He is a greater general 
favorite than any other of his kind; can you see why? 

(/) RosaHnd: What first makes us like Rosalind? Name the 
characteristics that she successively evinces in the play. Does the 
love at first sight seem reasonable? Remember her situation. 

{g) Celia: Do you note how Shakespeare's handling of Celia makes 
Rosalind more lovable? Name a few of Celia's characteristics. Reaa 
again Act III, ii, for one of Celia's moods. 

IV. Contrast and Parallelism. — Contrasts in character should be 
thought out; as, Oliver and Orlando, Duke S. and Duke F., Duke S. 
and Jaques. Contrasts in the same character; as, Oliver early and 
later in the play. Contrasts in situation; as, Oliver's wooing and 
Touchstone's. Similarly, parallelisms ought to be worked out; as, 
Oliver's and Rosahnd's situations when banished; Shakespeare's 



112 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. 

handling of Adam and Celia in the early part of the play to heighten 
our interest in Orlando and Rosalind, respectively, and to move us 
to compassionate them; the cases of love at first sight, etc. 

V. Form. — Point out specific instances of variation in the normal 
verse. As You Like It is particularly noted for its lyrics. Note their 
meter. Select a scene containing both prose and verse, and try to 
account for the change from one to the other. Does it occur because 
of the speaker, or because of the nature of the thought — i. e., its 
depth, beauty, wisdom, or its triteness, coUoquialness, simplicity? 
Are there any characters who speak throughout in prose alone or in 
verse alone? 

VI. Memory Passages. — Some of these may have been selected by 
the teacher; if so, the student should now be able to classify them as 
worthy of being memorized for their poetic beauty, or for their power, 
their wisdom, or their universal application to human affairs. Why 
have the songs been so repeatedly set to music? 

VII. Comparative Study. — This play might now be compared with 
one previously studied — say, the Merchant of Venice — and points 
both of similarity and of difference noted. This work has been 
profitably conducted as a classroom debate. 

VIII. Life and Character of the Author. — Under this caption, the 
student's notebook might show a chronological table of the author's 
life, and as succinct a character sketch of Shakespeare as the student 
can write. 

IX. Critical Opinion. — The student, who now has some views of 
his own, is at this point prepared to read with pleasure and profit 
selections of standard criticism, and to agree or take issue with the 
views of the critics. This can be made a very interesting part of the 
work. 



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